


Instinct

by Smim



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Endgame fix-it, Bucky and Sam and Nat friendship, Bucky trying and failing to move on, Gay Bucky Barnes, Grieving, M/M, Mourning, Mystery (I hope), Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve is back...or is he?, eventually happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smim/pseuds/Smim
Summary: “Had he said anything to you?” Natasha asked softly, eyes fixed on the shifting river beneath them.Bucky shook his head mutely. “Something about being nervous about seeing Red Skull, he told me he wouldn’t be gone for long,” he said, words tasting bitter in his mouth now. “Guess he just saw her and…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. The words twisted up his mouth, bottom lip trembling. He realised he was shaking.“Oh James,” Natasha sighed. She sounded tired, so very tired. “I’m sorry.”---Steve was just supposed to be returning the stones, but when he comes back he's old, and he's apparently lived a whole life with Peggy Carter. A life without Bucky even in it.Bucky doesn't know to move on from it.He can't, and he won't.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need some structure rn, very badly. I hope to at least up load once a week. I have some of the story planned out already. Stay safe out there x

There was something wrong with Steve Rogers.

Bucky didn’t know what it was, at first, but the moment he saw him- _Steve_ -all wrinkly and old, with a wedding ring on his finger, he knew something was wrong. He didn’t even need to hear him speak, hear him explain; it wasn’t right.

Sam walked up to him first, tentative and wide eyed. They spoke.

Even the way his voice sounded, the way he smiled, the way he spoke. It wasn’t right.

There was something wrong.

He could feel Natasha to his right, still and calculating. She had clearly not anticipated this going by the pinch in her brow. Seventy years had blinked by in a matter of seconds for them.

Slowly, Bucky felt himself go into panic mode. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed down, hard, blinking back the threat of tears. He lifted his hand up (the right hand) and tucked some loose hair behind his ear, the fidgeting a much needed distraction.

Sam was speaking to him, to Steve by the lake, and it was like the world was slipping into slow motion.

Steve hadn’t seen Bucky for near seventy years, and he wasn’t even _looking_ at him. Had he not missed Bucky at all? Did he not want to say hi to his ‘best friend’ after a whole life of marriage and (supposedly) kids? Bucky was just stood behind them, awkward and useless.

The shield was handed over. Natasha put a hand on his arm.

“Let’s give them space,” she said, but Bucky had a feeling that she wasn’t talking about _them_ but him. He was about ready to explode. There was a lump in his throat. He felt kind of sick. His hands were shaking. After over half a millennium of torture, HYDRA, suppressing his humanity, experiencing so much emotion, so much _feeling_ at once was overwhelming. There was a sour taste in his mouth.

Natasha lead them across the clearing. They didn’t engage with anyone else; the majority of funeral attendees having dispersed. It was their second funeral of the week. Clint’s had been two days ago, and ever since, Natasha had been especially quiet.

They stopped by a small patch of long grass and a thin sliver of river, which fed into the lake Steve had been sat beside. Natasha’s fingers were digging into his shoulder, verging on painful because of the scar tissue there. Still, Bucky barely felt it- he could barely feel anything. He was overwhelmed and empty all at once.

“He wouldn’t,” was all Bucky could say, words sticking in his mouth. “He _wouldn’t_.” His voice wobbled and broke at the edges. Natasha leaned into him, curling her arm properly around his shoulders. Bucky let out a shuddering breath.

But he would, and he had. Steve had left, left him, to live a half life with Peggy Carter. Even in death, he couldn’t compete with her. Maybe it was bold of him to even assume there was a competition at all. Maybe those stolen moments, fervent kisses had not meant anything…or at least not meant what they had meant to Bucky.

He felt like a fool, and heart broken, all at once.

“Had he said anything to you?” Natasha asked softly, eyes fixed on the shifting river beneath them.

Bucky shook his head mutely. “Something about being nervous about seeing Red Skull, he told me he wouldn’t be gone for long,” he said, words tasting bitter in his mouth now. “Guess he just saw her and…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. The words twisted up his mouth, bottom lip trembling. He realised he was shaking.

“Oh James,” Natasha sighed. She sounded tired, so very tired. “I’m sorry.”

Pity from anyone else would feel empty, patronising but from Natalia…it meant something. She had experienced his own pain, before. They had both suffered under HYDRA, the KGB; she understood him more than most did. Their closeness often reminded him of Becca, of a younger sister- though he never admitted it out loud. She would probably punch him (fondly) if he did.

“I want to leave,” Bucky realised out loud. In the background, his super serum hearing had picked up on Peter talking to Pepper-

_-It’s probably for the best,” Peter said. “He deserved his happy ending.”_

Bucky felt a sharp pang in his chest.

“Good idea,” Natasha said. “We can go back to my apartment, have some drinks.”

Currently, Bucky didn’t even have an apartment of his own to go back to. He had nothing. It had been a whirlwind- the past week and a half; organising the return of the stones, settling back into the reality of a post Thanos existence. Steve had been busy, sorting everything out. The Avengers, a Tony Stark memorial, putting the world back together one piece at a time, and now he was gone. He had been without Bucky for five years before he left…how much had he even really missed him?

Maybe he had just moved on. Maybe it was that simple.

Bucky just nodded.

They said some quick goodbyes. When Pepper hugged him, she looked at him strangely, eyes glazed over. Bucky thought she was about to ask something, but then didn’t, her smile a little sad.

Steve didn’t contact Bucky after the funeral.

He didn’t contact Bucky, or Natasha- because he knew she would have told him.

He heard nothing, but even the silence was deafening. Steve hadn’t seen him in…a very long time, and he didn’t even want to check in, message or call? Bucky couldn’t quite believe it. It felt like a bad dream, as if he were about to wake up at any moment and Steve would be there- young again and smiling as he pulled Bucky into a hug.

He had hugged him before he left. It was a tight hug, and lingering. Steve had seemingly been afraid he wasn’t going to return. The funny thing was, in many ways, he hadn’t. He wasn’t Bucky’s Steve. He felt like a stranger.

If Steve wasn’t going to reach out, then why would Bucky?

In the end, Sam contacted him with the offer from SHIELD; to work as a team again. Mostly undercover, special ops stuff. They would be working with secrets, spy networks and dealing with ‘sensitive international political situations’. It was absolutely a complete violation of the Accords, which were nearly ten years old now, but no one seemed to care. Rogers and his defiance of the rules had seemingly saved, not only the world, but the universe. The Accords had died in a strange kind of finality with Stark. It was almost as if now he was gone, the pretence of keeping them up was no longer necessary. Behind the scenes, they had no doubt been bent and circumvented since day one of their signing.

Thing was that Bucky didn’t care so much about the politics. But the allure of keeping busy, moving to DC, and spending time with Falcon pulled at him. He said he was going to think about it, but by the end of the day he’d already texted Sam to say yes.

By the end of the week, he’d bought an apartment in DC and made plans to move. Getting his bank account reopened, post snap, had been a pain in the ass but there were hundreds of thousands of people in the same boat. The world was adapting to so many new bodies, new faces. Every space felt overwhelming busy and bright, like people had forgotten how to move and function in proper crowds. Natasha told him stories about the five years post dusting; about the mourning, the pain and the quiet. She rarely brought Steve up in these stories. Bucky had a feeling she was more upset by his living a life without them than she let on. He knew they’d been close.

On his last day of packing, Bucky had considered texting him. He knew Steve lived in Brooklyn. He could go see him, easily. He didn’t have much to pack, having stowed himself away in a hotel, but he’d collected essentials and a few clothes. Natasha was disappearing back into the world of spies and secrets, Bucky was sure. She no doubt needed a distraction too. Two days ago, her hair had changed; still red but cut short in a pixie style. It really suited her.

Bucky didn’t text Steve before he left. Maybe he was a coward. The thought of seeing him made his chest go tight, bile rise in his throat. The betrayal cut too deep to heal so quickly. It might never heal. Even _thinking_ of Steve filled him with anguish, anger. He wasn’t sure he would survive being in his proximity again so soon.

Besides, it wasn’t just on Bucky to reach out. Steve could have reached out to him, anytime, but he hadn’t.

Bastard.

Bucky left New York feeling conflicted, frustrated and maybe a little hopeful about whatever waited for him in DC. Perhaps there would be less painful memories for him there. But then, that was where him and Steve had first met in this century, on that bridge-

Bucky turned on the radio and started up his car, new and shiny and courtesy of SHIELD. He was headed to the airport, and then to DC, and then to a new life, a new start. He needed it. Bucky was desperate for it. But even as he left Brooklyn, despite being glad to get away, he couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that he’d left something behind.

* * *

Bucky fell back into the routine of work, missions, training and sleeping far too much. It felt good, not only to keep busy, but to work…to contribute to something. He had finally shaken off the mantle of the Winter Soldier. He was working with Falcon, mostly going after HYDRA and AIM fragments left scattered around the world (and the many figures within that had returned post-snap.)

He had taken a leaf of Natasha’s book and cut his hair too. He got it shorter, a modern echo of his pre-war style but shorter on the sides. It certainly made close combat a lot easier, as his hair stopped getting in his damned eyes all the time.

Him and Sam worked well surprisingly well together. With Bucky on the ground, and Sam in the air, they made a formidable team. And whenever Natasha decided to join them (she very much appeared to be her own boss now, calling her own shots- it suited her) they became even more deadly.

Both having been dusted meant Sam and Bucky were relearning the world together. He was selfishly glad that his confusion and isolation were not something he was dealing with alone. Having someone else who ‘got it’ was a comfort, and a relief. HYDRA had cut Bucky off from reality, from his own sense of self- and to even experience a moment of that kind of loneliness again would have chilled him to the bone.

Bucky worked through every day as it came. He trained. He worked. He slept.

He tried not to think about Steve.

He failed not to think about Steve.

The problem was when he thought of him- he didn’t see _Steve_. He didn’t see an old, ninety year old man. He saw _his_ Steve; vibrant and alive drawing Bucky into a hug under the Wakandan sun-

And his heart ached when he thought of him. When he remembered his hands in his hair, the way his mouth parted under his own, the way he called him _Buck_ and no one else did-

Sometimes it hurt so much Bucky felt sick with it.

On those days, he didn’t get out of bed. He could barely move. He ignored his text and calls. Those kinds of days didn’t come often, but they were regular- every time Bucky thought he was getting close to moving on, to getting over Steve, a wave of nostalgia and hurt would hit him all over again.

It didn’t just break his heart. It made him angry. What right did Steve have, to break his heart like this? To hurt him, _like this_? 

They had lost each other, and nearly lost each other, so many times across the last hundred years. And it hurt so much, that now Bucky had lost him for the final time, it had been at Steve’s own hand.

It was a voluntary separation and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to process that.

He wasn’t sure how it was ever supposed to stop hurting.

* * *

“Barnes!”

Bucky’s head snapped up.

They were in the middle of a mountain pass, in the middle of goddamn nowhere in Scotland. They had been dropped, near 5am. It was 7am now and they were still traversing the mountain range uselessly. Sam had taken to the sky. They’d been given a location, but not an exact drop. There was supposedly a base around here somewhere, housing old HYDRA weaponry.

Truth be told, it was freezing cold and damp. Bucky was tired from a night of bad dreams the day before. He was miserable and he wanted to go home. Sure, he was all for taking HYDRA’s shit- but did it have to be so goddamn cold?

“I found something,” Sam said, dropping down onto a rock in front of him.

He had the shield on his back, and he was in full Cap get up. This was one was a stealth suit, so the whites were dulled and the red and blues darkened. Even with its subtlety, it was still distinctly still ‘Cap’. It really suited him. Sam had taken to the mantle incredibly well.

Sam had thrived with the responsibility, the purpose. Being able to be ‘Cap’ without seventy year old expectations had given the title a well needed breath of fresh air.

“Yeah?” Bucky said. “…is it far?”

Sam rolled his eyes, fondly. Even with the goggles, Bucky could see it.

Twenty minutes of climbing later, they found it. It was underwhelming and easy to miss. Bucky was honestly impressed that Sam had even managed to spot it. It was a small trap door, set into the stone. It was metal, greenish in colour, and rusted as hell. The trap was situated amongst heavy set rocks and thick tumbles of moss and heather. It was well hidden.

The trap door would hopefully lead to a HYDRA cash from WWII. Carter and her people (ie. Her spy network) had apparently taken down a HYDRA faction in Edinburgh, planning to make their way down to London. Despite catching all of them, they’d never quite managed to get the location of all their supplies.

This drop had been a rumour. An old lead no one had bothered to follow up.

But Sam and Bucky were keen to follow it up now. They were after some old blueprints. Very old.

A few weeks into their new career in DC, they’d found a HYDRA base. This one had been in Southern Germany, and it looked like a relic from the Schmidt era. There was lots of comical red skulls with tentacles (a look that was outdated even in HYDRA terms) and a strange machine. It had been moved to a SHIELD facility- but even that had taken time. The thing was huge. But they had no idea what it was, or what it does. A brain like Stark’s would have come in handy right now. Shuri had been sent photos, but Bucky hadn’t since managed convinced her to come over and take a look for herself.

All SHIELD’s current archives had come up empty. They current had nothing to go on.

Ever since, they’d been searching for every missed WWII HYDRA cash or base they could find. And there wasn’t many left that hadn’t been searched already. Steve Rogers was a thorough man and he’d made a serious dent in HYDRA’s imprint left on the world, both in the past and the present.

Bucky knelt down by the trap door and promptly shoved his metal fingers into the trap door edge. The old, rusted panel didn’t stand a chance against the finest of Wakanda technology. The metal groaned and bent under his fingertips. There was a satisfying snap and Bucky wrenched the trap door up with a grunt, letting it fall open.

It revealed a ladder, going down into a very dark tunnel. Sam barked out a dry laugh.

“You first,” he said.

Bucky sent him a look. “You have a light on your rifle,” Sam pointed out.

He was right there.

Bucky sighed.

He went down the ladder first.

It went…a long way down. So deep down, it was almost eery.

By the time they got to the bottom, it was several degrees colder. And very damp. Bucky could taste the staleness on the air. He felt the ground with his feet, wet soil, and jumped off of the end of the ladder. Swinging his rifle around off of his shoulder, he flicked the torch on.

“Stinks down here,” Sam muttered as he came up behind him. They were in a thin tunnel. There was a dripping sound somewhere. The walls and ceiling looked like a part of a cave.

“Let’s move,” Bucky murmured, tension crawling down his spine. They knew it would be empty. It had to be empty. It had been closed up for at least fifty years, but Bucky was still nervous. Places like this would always make him nervous.

They edged down the tunnel. The first rooms they found would be better described as caves, full of general gear and even crates of long life food and barres of water. Whoever had been down here, had enough stuff to last for a lifetime.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Sam said, as they found a found a small cave full of different clothing that had deteriorated and rotted in the damp. The wigs in the corner had gotten too wet and dirty, clumped together disgustingly. It was all clearly gear used for disguises.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, eyeing a worn leather jacket slumped over a chair.

Eventually, they found a door. It had a series of locks and keypads, but Sam’s shield made quick work of it.

The door swung open and Bucky found himself holding his breath.

The room was empty.

Well, empty of people.

It was a would-be office. Full of papers and typewriters. Most of the paperwork had rotted beyond recognition. If anything looked like a blueprint, it probably wouldn’t be legible. Sam cursed under his breath and walked over, picking up damp pieces of paper.

He grimaced as pages wilted in his hands, giving away at the slightest touch.

“Fuck,” Sam said.

“This was a waste of time,” Bucky sighed, opening draws of a locker. He picked up a folder to find the pages congealed together, sticking so badly they were impossible to pull apart. The lack of proper light didn’t help make it less eery. It was a forgotten place, left by a group of agents who never got to return to it.

It hadn’t been left in a rush or destroyed in a fight. It had just been…left. 

“The exercise was probably good for us,” Sam griped.

“Hey. Fuck you,” Bucky said. He tapped at the front of the folder.

It was just about legible:

_OPERATION PEGASUS: CLASSIFIED_

“This doesn’t ring a bell,” Bucky said. “It could be our machine?” He guessed.

How many secrets projects could HYDRA have from WWII? He had no idea. It actually made him a little queasy just thinking about it.

“Worth bringing. The guys in the lab might be able to take scans of the folders. But the loose stuff is…no. Nothing here,” Sam said, sighing. His shoulders dipped. It was their sixth base, where they’d come up empty. He was getting frustrated.

The Pegasus folder was a softener. They had failed to find what they were looking for, yet again.

Sam pulled a face as he rubbed the mouldy paper from his fingers back onto the table.

They did another once over of the room, and the caves, just to be sure, and made their way out with old, damp files that would probably give them nothing. Bucky wasn’t sure this lead was worth missing a night of sleep for.

But he supposed it was better than nothing.

* * *

Bucky had been in DC for months now. The nice pay checks that SHIELD sent his way had paid for a lovely downtown apartment in an old white stone building. He had a small balcony of his own, where he kept potted plants and cacti and was even floating the idea of getting a cat (the problem was, sometimes missions sent him away for weeks a time. The cat was currently an unobtainable fantasy.) Sam and Natasha had been around a few times, but currently the apartment was empty. Bucky enjoyed having his own space. In Wakanda he’d had his own home but was constantly moving from medical check-ups to psych evals and never really got to sit still for long.

The apartment was a kind of paradise for Bucky. His first ever true taste of privacy in a very long time.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to be alone, until he truly was. It felt like a final conclusion of his very long recovery; being comfortable and familiar with his sense of self- something that had been alien to him for over seventy years.

Bucky was currently enjoying his first ever ‘holiday’. Paid leave was a thrilling concept, and he was excited at the prospect of lazing around for a week without doing work. Sam had gently berated him about leaving him with all the paperwork, but Bucky knew he was secretly relieved Bucky was taking time off for himself and establishing his own boundaries. Something he said about self-care last week was probably relevant.

He spent the morning lazing around, got out of bed at eleven in the morning. He had pancakes for lunch. Bucky was ready to relax, for the first time in months. He put on music, loud and obnoxious, and mentally made plans for the day; that tv show Sam said he had to watch, that book he’d only ever gotten a chapter into, maybe he would finally think about attending a bar more inclined towards-

His phone started ringing.

Bucky answered it, without thinking about it.

“Hey Bucky,” said a voice that sounded too familiar and all wrong at once.

Bucky froze, mid motion, in the middle of his living room. He was currently just in boxers and a hoodie. Maybe it was a ridiculous thought or feeling, but he didn’t feel like he was _dressed_ for this right now.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Is this a bad time?”

Bucky’s mind was running a mile a minute. What the hell should he do, play along, act all nice? What the hell was going on? Why was Steve calling him _now_? He was sure he could have gotten his number from Sam- him and Sam staunchly did not talk about Steve (in that every time Sam brought him up, Bucky changed the subject) so Sam could be talking to him and Bucky not know about it.

“Sam said you took holiday,” Steve continued, sounding a little uncomfortable. Now Bucky felt bad.

Steve’s voice was weird. It was older, a little rough around the edges, but still distinctly Steve’s voice. It just felt like…the way he spoke wasn’t right anymore. The words didn’t round out in the same way, or didn’t quite fall into place. It had been over seventy years. It was crazy for Bucky to expect him to speak the same way, but he did.

He was an idiot.

“Yeah…yeah,” Bucky said. “Sorry.” Hearing his own voice, he knew he sounded off, awkward. Hopefully Steve wouldn’t be able to tell. “You just caught me off guard, is all,” he said.

“Yeah? Sorry about that,” Steve said. Was that something Steve would say? Bucky was racking his brain for answers, for conspiracies. Was this _his_ Steve? “I guess I just wanted to check in with you.”

_Why now?_

Bucky swallowed down the words he wanted to snap back. Steve was an old man, and he was calling him to see how he was- he could not be a dick about this. It wasn’t that hard. He could be nice to him for five minutes, then go back to being furious at him. Easy.

“Yeah? I’m okay. I’m good. Y’know. Keeping busy. Getting back into the swing of things,” Bucky said, words tasting wrong in his mouth. He wasn’t saying anything, not really. He was speaking to Steve like you might a stranger, not an age old friend.

Not that the word ‘friend’ had ever been quite right, for whatever they were.

And whatever they were, they obviously were not anymore.

“Sam said you guys were back at it. I’m real proud of you,” Steve said, voice surprisingly warm.

Bucky exhaled shakily. He felt his shoulders sag a little. “…Thanks Steve,” he said, voice a touch quieter. “Are you…er, doing okay on your end?”

He knew Steve had moved back into his old apartment in Brooklyn. He didn’t know much more beyond that.

“Oh, you know me. I’m keeping busy.”

A weirdly vague answer. Bucky waited for Steve to elaborate, but he didn’t’.

“You ain’t calling for a specific reason, are you?” Bucky finally broached.

“Can’t a guy just check in an old best friend?”

_Best friend_. The words cut deep.

“Yeah…I mean. Of course,” Bucky said and cleared his throat. He felt a lump growing there.

There was an awkward pause. Neither of them said anything. Ironically, the few beats of silence felt more natural than the minutes of their conversation.

“I better go. Sharon is trying to call me,” Steve said. “But please do feel free to call me, anytime Bucky. I’m still here, if you need me.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Bucky said quickly and hung up. He dropped down onto the nearest sofa, feeling…awful. There was a crawling sensation in his chest, something akin to panic, and it settled there- heavy and uncomfortable. He was struggling to breathe. Bucky gripped the arm of his sofa, tightly (fortunately with his right hand, the left would have certainly ripped it) and screwed his eyes shut.

He remembered what his therapist had taught him. _In for two, out for two_ \- he kept breathing, steady and shakily. Bucky sat there, for what felt like hours, just trying to breathe. And the whole time, the conversation kept playing over in his head- the conversation of basically nothing, where Steve’s voice sounded so familiar but so wrong-

Bucky woke up on the couch and it was dark outside. He must have fallen asleep at some point.

It was safe to say, his week of holiday and relaxation was ruined.

* * *

For five days, Bucky spoke to no one. He didn’t leave his apartment. The phone call with Steve had kicked up bad, defensive habits. He couldn’t speak to anyone, because they’d ask how he was doing; and he was doing shit.

One thing Steve said kept playing over in his mind. Every time he tried to relax, tried to think, tried to sleep-

_I’m still here, if you need me_.

_No,_ Bucky thought childishly. _You’re not. You left._

“Maybe I’m being crazy,” Bucky said to himself. He was sat outside on his balcony, at three in the morning. It was a warm, spring night and he was sipping some left over wine he’d tried to cook a stew with- he was terrible at following recipes. The whole meal had ended up tasting far too acrid and he’d ended up ordering a takeaway.

Steve seemed like an imposter, but that didn’t mean he was. What he seemed to Bucky, and reality, did not have to be compatible. Obsessing over the idea that this wasn’t the real Steve, prolonging his own denial- was that good for him?

Maybe not, but it made the heart break just a smidge more bearable. Some days, it was so bad it felt like Bucky couldn’t speak, like the weight on his chest was just too much- and ever since his phone call with Steve, that weight had gotten a little heavier.

The acceptance of it all was creeping up on him, and he didn’t like it.

On the last day of holiday, Black Widow let herself into his apartment. (No, he did not give her a set of keys. She must have picked the lock, or scaled the fire escape and walked around- he wouldn’t have put it past her.)

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest.

It was half past nine in the morning. Bucky was moving around his kitchen and attempting to make a coffee.

“Good morning to you too,” Bucky said.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, watching him carefully.

She had walked around to the other side of his kitchen counter (the living space was open plan, so she could get in his line of sight just about anywhere). Bucky focused on pouring out his coffee from the filter. “Do you want a drink?” He asked.

“You going to ignore my question?”

“Yep,” Bucky said, dumping way too much sugar into his coffee before stirring it with a teaspoon.

Natasha sighed. “Is this about Steve?”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed when she asked. He swallowed.

He was an ex-Winter Soldier, one with the shadows, spy extraordinaire- but when it came to Steve he couldn’t lie for shit. He never could, and that would never change.

“What happened?” She asked, voice a toucher gentler now.

Bucky raised his mug and took a scalding sip of coffee, if only to buy himself time to think. To gather himself. “He…called me.”

“Yeah? And how did that go?”

“Fine,” Bucky said. “It was…nothing, really. Lasted barely five minutes.”

“But it got to you,” Natasha observed, looking over him pointedly. Bucky was still in the same hoodie he’d been wearing when Steve had called, and he obviously hadn’t showered in a few days. He hadn’t been looking after himself at all.

“Look-“ Bucky let out a shuddering breath and walked past the counter and Natasha to a sofa. He sank down into it. The prospect of standing and talking at the same was a little too much at the moment. Bucky curled both hands around his coffee. Wanting to get on his level, Natasha dropped into an armchair across from him. She kicked off her boots and crossed her legs underneath herself, perhaps pointedly, getting comfortable. “I don’t know if talking about this is gonna help right now. I’m still trying to process…everything.”

“That he left?” Natasha clarified.

“Yes, that he left,” Bucky said after a moment, voice wobbling just a little. He took another sip of coffee, eyes fixed on the floor. “He doesn’t think- he obviously doesn’t think he did anything wrong.”

“And…did he?”

“No! I mean. I don’t know.” Bucky put his coffee down on the small table between them. His hands were shaking too much, and he didn’t want to spill it on himself. Dammit.

_Did_ Steve do anything wrong? No. Of course not. He had a right to do what he wanted.

But, on the other hand- did he have a right to make Bucky feel like this? Or was Bucky doing this to himself? Even just thinking about it was tying him up in knots.

He swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor.

“James,” Natasha said, leaning forward. The ends of her fringe were growing out a little, tickling the edges of sharp eyebrows. She looked amazing. And he looked like shit. Clint had _died_. She had lost him with a real kind of finality, that Bucky couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Natasha was so strong. He wished he could even adopt an ounce of that.

“I’m worried about you,” she said. “I know you have your job at SHIELD, with Sam, and that’s going great but…”

“How do you cope?” Bucky blurted out.

“What?”

“Without Clint?” He asked, looking up at her. “You two were-“ He paused. “-Close.”

“Yes. We were close,” Natasha said, leaning back in her seat. “But I wasn’t in love with him. I loved him, of course I did. But we never- we weren’t like that.” She finished, choosing her words carefully.

“Are you trying to say I’m in love with Steve?” He asked, and even then, he couldn’t hide the way his voice choked. Fuck. Fucking vulnerability and fuck this.

“Are you going to deny it?” Natasha asked, tilting her head. “I’m not stupid, you know. I am a spy,” she said, the edge of her mouth tilting up. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought you were probably being.” Her smile twisted a little, turning almost sad.

Bucky looked down again, one leg propped up on the couch. He curled his prosthetic around his knee. The fact that Natasha knew, to his own surprise, barely bothered him. What did it matter now, anyway? That moment in his life, that relationship was…over.

“The Steve I was in love with…he isn’t here,” he said. “So, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“Now, I know you don’t believe that,” Natasha said.

Bucky leaned back and sighed a withered sigh . “…I can’t believe you knew and didn’t say anything. Actually. No. I can totally believe it.”

“I was trying to mind my own business,” Natasha said. “Now, get dressed. The state of your living room is depressing me.”

“What am I getting dressed for?” He asked, not feeling like even moving right now, let alone showering.

“I’m taking you out for lunch,” Natasha said. “No arguments.”

She took him out for lunch, and he tried his best to have a good time. Like Bucky, really _really_ tried. There were even brief moments, during their meal, when he didn’t think about Steve, when his chest didn’t hurt- it was the most relaxed he’d felt this whole damned holiday.

Thankfully, Natasha didn’t bring Steve up against until the end of their meal. They’d shared a bottle of wine, but with both of them having botched serums in their veins, they were barely buzzed. “You know,” she said. “I think you need to be kinder to yourself, over this whole Steve thing. You’re allowed to be sad about it…you’re allowed to be mournful.”

Bucky was quiet. He tapped his fingers against the café table’s white tablecloth.

“I’m just scared,” Bucky said.

“Scared of what?” Natasha asked, gentle as he could be.

“That he’s…still out there.” Bucky said, voice terribly soft. Maybe the wine had loosened his tongue more than he’d realised.

Natasha frowned in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” Bucky muttered.

“No. Bucky. What do you mean?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Bucky said, firmer now. “Just forget I said anything.”

“James-“

“Just forget it!” Bucky snapped. He regretted snapping, almost instantly. Natasha didn’t look hurt or upset, but she was watching him with clear concern.

Thankfully, she dropped it. Steve wasn’t brought up again for the rest of their dinner.

That night, Bucky couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. About whether he was losing his mind, or if he had really just lost Steve. Was there a difference? He didn’t know.

He polished off the second bottle of wine they’d ordered at the café, but not finished, and fell asleep on the sofa with some mindless nature documentary on in the background.

Once again, he tried, and failed, not to think about Steve as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Steve was fiddling with his tie in front of the mirror, hands shaking a little. He’d trimmed his beard and slicked back his hair. He looked good, but Bucky was sure he was nervous about his suit sitting right. Steve hadn’t worn a suit in years, he’d said as much. And it was Tony’s funeral, so of course he was nervous. For Clint’s he’d been quaking in his boots, and for this Steve looked about ready to bolt out of the room- as if he ran and left, refusing to lay Tony to rest, then he didn’t have to face the reality of Tony not being around anymore._

_Bucky was sat on the bed, texting Natalia that they’d be late, and she go ahead without them. He was already dressed (not in a suit. Bucky didn’t have one, hence being dead five years, and had stuck with simple black clothes he could get a hold of quickly)._

_“Steve, you look fine,” he said, looking up to see Steve fiddling with his tie_ again _._

_“I know I just…fuck. It doesn’t look right,” Steve said quietly._

_He wasn’t just nervous because of the funeral, but because he was taking the stones back today too. Bucky was probably more nervous about than him, though. He could see the desperation in Steve’s eyes, the need to fix everything. He was scared about how far that desperation would take him; about whether he’d come home._

_“You look very handsome,” Bucky said, locking his phone after checking Natalia’s reply. “Stop fussing, Stevie.”_

_When the nickname came out, on instinct, Steve’s shoulders dipped naturally. Like a little bit of tension finally eased out of him. He sighed and dropped his hands by his sides, cheeks a tad pinker than they had been before._

_They’d shared the bed last night (and several nights, since the battle against Thanos) but they hadn’t had sex. For Steve it had been over five years. It had been…a long week. He’d been recovering from injuries, psychological trauma, mourning- just being close to each other had been enough. Bucky felt calm when he was near Steve when he was falling asleep next to him. He liked to hope he had the same calming effect on the other too._

_Although right now, he wasn’t sure much could make Steve calm._

_“Does my hair look okay?” Steve asked, turning away from the mirror for Bucky’s approval. It was longer, like he’d grown it out when he’d been a vigilante. And the beard- it looked good. Bucky thought it suited him. He smiled a half smile._

_“You know it does,” Bucky said. “You worried Red Skull’s gonna mock your hair, huh?”_

_“He might,” Steve mumbled. “Least I_ have _hair.”_

_“That’s true,” Bucky snorted. “Gonna pick on his insecurities?”_

_“Maybe,” Steve said, a faint glint in his eyes that felt like the real Steve underneath. Cheeky and defiant forever, and always. “He always did look stupid. Like a bowling ball.”_

_“We should go,” Bucky said, but made no move to slid off of the bed._

_“We should,” Steve agreed. But he didn’t move to grab their coats. Instead, he sat down on the bed in front of Bucky and put a hand on his knee._

_“Ain’t you worried?” He asked quietly._

_Bucky looked up at him. “No,” he said, Steve’s hand warm against his leg. “You’ll come back Steve, you’ll be fine. It’s gonna be a hell of a lot easier than nabbing them in the first place.”_

_Steve squeezed his hand then pulled away. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, though his gaze became a little distant as he dropped his hands into his lap. He forced himself to stand up, running fingers through his hair one final time. “Let’s go,” he said. “We can’t be late to-“_

_He didn’t finish the sentence, wobbling a little in place. Bucky stood and steadied him quickly with a light grip on his elbow._

_“We won’t be,” Bucky assured him quietly. “We’ll be fine, Stevie.”_

_“Yeah,” Steve said, not sounding too convinced. “You got it, Buck.”_

_Feeling brave, his hand slid down to take Steve’s in his. It was warm._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam have a run in with some mutants at the raft. Bucky tries to brave the nightlife scene, with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments and kudos. Your comments were very kind and super appreciated. x

The Monday he went back to work, Bucky was deployed that night. Him and Sam were suited up and in a Quinjet at 1am, flying out into the middle of the damned ocean. Apparently, there was an attempted break in at the Raft, and they needed back up. Bucky and Sam were the most readily available and qualified operators, so they were on their way before they knew it.

“How was your holiday?” Sam asked.

Bucky probably wasn’t in the light or jovial mood Sam had been anticipating, but he was too tired to fake it. The lunch with Natasha had been nice and all but it didn’t shake off the depression from the past week. He was, in short, fucking exhausted.

“Shit,” Bucky answered. “I’m…not good at taking holidays, it turns out.”

“Yeah?” Sam said. “Maybe you just need practise.”

Bucky snorted. “Hm. Maybe.”

“By the way, you missed it, when you were on holiday,” Sam said, changing the subject. He was sorting out his firearms on the bench on the jet, whilst Bucky sat in the pilot seat. It was on autopilot, so it was mostly a formality. Bucky spun his chair around to face him. “They got back on those files we got in Scotland, finally.”

Sam glanced at him over his shoulder. “They didn’t get much. Did it all with x-rays…but Pegasus seemed to be about a person. A project. No blueprints of any kind.”

Bucky frowned. “Like…a Winter Soldier project?”

“Wasn’t enough detail to say,” Sam said and gave him a sympathetic look. “But we know that the Winter Soldier project was called project SIREN. Right?”

“Right,” Bucky said, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

He didn’t know it where it came from, or why now, but suddenly Bucky piped up:

“You didn’t tell me you still spoke to Steve.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance to tell you, Bucky,” Sam pointed out, leaning back against the bench.

Bucky grumbled under his breath.

“Why do you ask?” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No reason,” Bucky said.

“There’s obviously a reason.”

“You’ve been speaking to him, about me?” Bucky said.

“He asked after you,” Sam said. “Is that…allowed?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Whatever. It’s allowed.”

“…You should talk to him man,” Sam encroached carefully.

“I did. He called me!”

“And how did that go?”

_Terrible. He’s a liar. There’s something wrong with him. It isn’t my Steve._

“Fine,” Bucky lied. “Absolutely fine.”

Sam knew he was lying. But their drop was in less than ten minutes. Now wasn’t the time to push, or worse make it into a fight. Ever since Bucky had sort of let slip to Natasha that he didn’t think it was _his_ Steve he had been panicked.

Did he really think that, or was he in denial?

Was he losing his fucking mind?

The radio crackled. Bucky turned around to answer it. It was time to land.

It was a mutant, unsurprisingly, attacking the Raft.

The Raft was specially made to house ‘dangerous individuals’. If it hadn’t been for Steve, Bucky would have probably ended up in a place like this eventually. They held mutants here, sometimes, but without the Accords to ratify unconstitutional actions towards or on the mutant population, a lot of the cells had become empty. Empty cells, and a somewhat purposeless prison had lead to a lot of non-mutant prisoners being brought here too. Especially if they were high profile.

But a mutant being here, trying to break in, was still unsurprising. They were probably trying to break out a friend, or they were a hired ‘gun’ so to speak. Bucky knew that if he were going to hire a single individual to try and break into a prison, he would be after someone with a few superpowers _at least_.

Not breaking in themselves, they could leave their jet in the hangar and move into the Raft through its intended entrance. It became immediately obvious that there was a fight going on somewhere. There was shouting, gunfire. As Bucky and Sam got further into the Raft, they found bodies, blood stains.

This was bad.

“We want to disarm, if we can,” Sam said.

It was looking like a big fucking ‘if’.

Bucky had his rifle on his back, but he didn’t swing it around. Yet.

They found a guard, injured and clutching at his bloody neck, but alive. “They’re on E corridor!” He yelled, voice a little gurgled as he moved past them. He was clearly trying to move away from the action, and Bucky couldn’t blame him. The wound on his neck was shallow but oozing nastily. It probably hurt like a bitch.

There was red lighting, everywhere. The Raft had moved to emergency power and was on lockdown. Every prisoner was supposedly back in their cells. So, they shouldn’t have any trouble on their way up. Or down, rather. Bucky had to remind himself that the Raft was underwater; there was no going up, only below. There was a dull, constant siren blasting above them. It was going to give Bucky a headache.

On the stairwell, there was blood- and huge pools of water. Sam grimaced as they stepped through a pink puddle, where the blood had been diluted to a milky pink over the grey flooring. “What the hell,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Whatever this thing was, it was weird.

Bucky eyed a bloody handprint on the stairwell as they moved down another level, towards E corridor.

A familiar rush of adrenaline was curling up his spine as they got closer to the sound of the fight. How the hell could a mutant do all this damage by themselves? He didn’t know, and he was weirdly excited to find out. Bucky enjoyed the fire of battle, the white hot heat of the panic and the focus all twisting into one. In battle, on a mission, was the only time he was truly distracted. When he wasn’t thinking about-

_No. Not now._

They burst into E corridor. They were several levels down. The corridor was circular, long and winding. The walkways were lined by railing, but they weren’t quite high enough for Bucky’s liking and there were several levels below them still. The drop was…far.

There was one mutant, in the air, twisting out of the way of the guard’s gunfire.

Bucky found himself idly wishing he had wings too.

The mutant was clearly magical in some aspect. They were suspended in the air, moving around in a similar way that Wanda might. They were almost glowing, their body terribly pale. There was a mist around them, which Bucky would momentarily realise was caused by the cold.

They gestured wildly at the cluster of guards currently trying to take shots. A spike of ice flew from their hands and smashed into the group of guards, sending them scattering. One was nearly thrown over the edge of the railing by the momentum but one of his fellow guards managed to drag him back.

“I don’t like prisons,” Bucky said.

“Me neither,” Sam said quietly.

They had hoped the assailant would obviously be HYDRA, so they didn’t have to feel bad about taking them out. But what was happening here?

“You think it’s a rescue mission?” He asked.

“If it is,” Sam snorted. “They don’t seem very focused on the rescue bit.”

The gunfire didn’t even seem to touch them.

“Maybe they just want to destroy the prison built for mutants,” Bucky murmured.

“Maybe,” Sam conceded. The mutant was drawing their hands back, readying another hit. “Hey!” Sam yelled. With a bent of his knees, and a hand on the railing, Sam jumped up into the air. His wings extended on cue and he got up to the mutant’s eyeline, meeting them on an even level. “What’s your problem?” He called out.

Bucky curled one hand behind himself, having one hand on his rifle, as he moved along the walkway. He was watching the mutant, carefully. He didn’t want to shoot them, but he wasn’t going to let Sam fall all the way down the Raft just to prove a point.

Sometimes, Sam and Steve were more alike than Bucky had realised. It was easy to see how they were such fast friends.

They both saw the best in people. Even apparently people who were breaking into prisons for seemingly no reason and throwing huge ice spikes at guards…although Bucky was pretty sure Steve would quietly approve of such behaviour.

The mutant turned towards Sam. They were covered in so much ice, with crystals lining the edge of their face. They looked…terrific and terrifying all at once. Bucky swallowed; hand steady on his rifle- but he hadn’t pulled it yet.

“I didn’t know Captain America could fly,” the mutant said, sounding amused if anything.

“Got an upgrade,” Sam called back. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” They asked, hand raised. Pieces of ice began to form in their hand, hissing and sharp. They were clearly incredibly powerful. Bucky wondered where powers like that could even come from.

Sam’s hands flexed by his sides in the air, ready to pull out his shield in flash if he needed to defend himself.

“Not really,” Sam said. “If you were here to break out a friend, you think you’d be a little more subtle.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” They pointed out, eyes bright.

“Are we sure they’re working alone!” Bucky called out.

It was as if, for asking, fate had decided to mock him. A hand curled into his hair and wrenched him back with serious strength. Bucky grunted as he was thrown back against the inner wall of the walk away, his rifle digging into his back painfully. And he looked up to see-

Nothing.

Then someone kicked him in the face.

Bucky felt pain blossom across his face. Blood gushed from his nose.

Whoever was attacking him, was very invisible.

“Barnes!” Bucky heard Sam shout. He twisted around and scrambled to his feet just in time to be kicked in the chest. He was thrown against the railing. Ah. Haha. _Bad idea_. Bucky felt the empty space behind him, he could see the drop vividly flashing in his mind. He wasn’t sure he could survive a second death defying fall.

Bucky closed his eyes.

_He remembered how they used to train. At the beginning. The Winter Soldiers would be put in a dark room, pitch black, and they had to fight. They had to learn to fight without their all their senses, without sight. Every week, they put them in that room. And every week, one less soldier made it out._

_Bucky was terrible at first. The first week, he left with a bloody face and broken fingers. Even his ribs were twinging. He had only made it out because he’d bitten a man in the neck; the shock of the pain had given Bucky a split second to react. He would soon learn that fights were won and lost in split seconds._

_But as the weeks went on, Bucky got better. He came formidable._

_Despite being in the dark, Bucky learned to close his eyes. He would centre himself. He would learn to breathe._

_In the forties, when Steve was sick with his chest, Bucky would stay up all night making sure he could breathe okay. Bucky would sit by his bedside and count his breaths. In middle of the night, it would be pitch black and terribly quiet in their apartment. Bucky would just listen to the sound of Steve breathing- and that sound would centre him, calm him. If Steve was still breathing, then he was okay._

_In the dark room, Bucky learned to hear the breathing of the other Winter Soldiers. He would go for chests, for windpipes. He would find them, in the darkness, hunt them down when they tried to run. When the fight ended, he would emerge covered in blood, but it was no longer his own._

_Training to be the Winter Soldier had been ruthless, inhuman, but it had prepared him for the unexpected._

He listened for breathing. He heard it, off to his right. Whoever or whatever it was, they were panting with the exertion, stepping towards him. The breathing was getting louder-

Bucky’s hand shot out. Despite seemingly reaching into nothingness, Bucky gripped at the front of a jacket, covered in straps. And he threw the form away from him, the strength of prosthetic arm unrivalled.

He heard them roll and opened his eyes. Still nothing.

Bucky closed them again. He focused. And he met the assailant in the middle. They were quick, but he was quicker- which gave him time to catch up considering the whole not being able to see thing. They got a few hits in, of course they did, but Bucky didn’t get nearly thrown over the railing again. Yet.

In between hits, he tried to look up and see what was happening with Sam. He could hear ice being thrown, and the shield- clangs of metal and cold. The guards on the other side of the walkway, those still standing, tried to get in a few shots. But another blast of ice was sent their way and they were scattering.

This was not good.

“Who are you!?” Bucky yelled into the air.

There was no answer. Bucky heard a distinct sound. They were running. He ran after them.

In the end, he lost them.

The ice mutant flew away, after a long and painful fight with Sam. The Raft’s exterior firearms tried to take them out, and several copters were taken into the air- but they were unlikely to find them. It was a misty night and the sea was choppy. It would be easy to disappear in the dark.

And Bucky’s invisible combatant was nowhere to be seen.

He had chased them down several corridors before he lost them in the maze that was the Raft. It was frustrating and aggravating. They hadn’t succeeded in detaining anyone or gotten any answers. Bucky had just gotten a bloody face, a bitten tongue and Sam had severe ice burns on his side and arm.

SHIELD was arriving to scope out the area and collect evidence as they were cleaning up.

Bucky was getting his nose taped by a medic when Sam walked over to him. He had bandages up one arm and across his chest, his uniform slung over one arm. “Well,” Sam said. “That didn’t go well.”

Bucky grunted in response.

“Invisible, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice nasally as the medic backed away, his nose fixed in place. “Dickhead. Do we know why they’re here?”

“They tried to get to the ground level. Corridor Zero. It’s for the highest security prisoners, but they couldn’t get in.”

“Are we allowed down there?” Bucky asked, wincing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ha. Probably not. I doubt we have the clearance.”

“So, they had the guns, but not the security knowhow?” Bucky asked.

“You could say that. Apparently, they tried to release all the prisoners on corridor A to cause a distraction, but they failed to hack the panel. Instead, they triggered an emergency response- hence all the lighting,” Sam sighed and sat down next to him, heavily. “The…icy person. Whatever they were. They didn’t tell me anything. Tried to damn near kill me.”

“They made a hole in the roof you know,” Sam continued in amusement. “Just with ice…kind of crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, crazy,” Bucky said, leaning his head back. Around them, SHIELD agents were buzzing and prison guards, along with a significant medical team. A lot of guards had been hurt, or killed. And Sam and Bucky had failed to contain the threat.

It didn’t feel great, but Bucky had a feeling capturing a mutant wouldn’t have felt great either.

He remembered when Steve broke into the Raft, over seven years ago now. He’d been doing the right thing, hadn’t he? And how many guards had he hurt or killed in the process? It was hard for Bucky to stomach, as he witnessed the aftermath of the carnage but…he couldn’t let seeing blood make him the situation in black and white. Until he had the full picture, he didn’t know what to think.

“If they won’t tell us whose on Ground Zero, I’m not sure where we’re supposed to take this,” Bucky pointed out with a mumble, side eyeing Sam. He’d pushed his goggles up and there were faint rings around his eyes. His left eye looked a little bruised too.

Before Sam could rely, there was a shout from down the corridor, following by a wet snapping sound.

Bucky sprung up and pushed past the medics to see guards leaning over the railing.

“She just jumped!” One guard exclaimed. “I don’t know- I have no idea-“ She was stammering, wide eyed.

The guards had been moving a prisoner because her cage was damaged by an ice spike, the spike piercing through the glass and menacingly large. The moment the prisoner had been pulled out of the cage; she had seemingly thrown herself over the edge. She was a small, petite woman who looked around her thirties, her body looking oddly fragile on the floor.

“Who is that?” Bucky asked, staring at her very small body at the bottom of the prison shaft, blood pooling out for her head and staining the grey jumpsuit she wore.

“…A HYDRA scientist,” a guard said quietly before another one cuffed him.

It was uncommon for HYDRA heads to try and off themselves in captivity. Whoever this scientist was, she clearly had secrets that she was intent to take her grave. Bucky didn’t feel any pity for her, but he was admittedly curious.

Maybe the ice mutant had been trying to kill her? Or maybe her cage being hit was completely random.

It was impossible to know.

“Sorry, Agent Barnes. All prisoners’ identities are classified,” one of the prison directors stated.

“Uh huh. I understand,” Bucky said, not really listening. It didn’t matter. He had seen her face.

Bucky was good with faces.

* * *

Sam and Bucky were in a sour mood after the failure at the Raft. They were both nursing injuries and writing up low-ley humiliating reports for SHIELD, about how they fought and lost against two mutants, in the middle of a goddamn prison built for mutants.

It was almost like a bad joke.

Truly though, Bucky was just glad they’d ran, and he hadn’t had the weight of their capture on his shoulders. Maybe that made him a bad SHIELD agent, but he didn’t care. He had learnt from Steve first-hand that being a good person, or trying to be, would always take precedent.

He had done some digging on the dead HYDRA scientist. With Natasha’s help, he’d found her (and some files). Her name was Susan Vine. She had been working with HYDRA for years, after defecting from SHIELD’s science division after the whole mess that was project INSIGHT.

The only information he could find about her work was through old SHIELD files. She worked in DNA and genetics. Interesting.

Maybe she’d been in the business of finding mutants? Or creating mutants?

They’d captured her less than a month ago, on a base in the middle of goddamn nowhere in Southern California. Ironically, it was an old SHIELD base they’d adapted to their use. Unfortunately, they didn’t manage to get everyone- some members of the base had escaped with supplies, but Vine and her team had been captured. The rest of her team had managed to off themselves, but Vine’s cyanide capsule in her mouth had failed to burst. And she’d been captured.

And now she was dead anyway. Good riddance, honestly.

Bucky was getting frustrated. After days of writing up reports, hunting through files, and watching his bruised nose slowly fix itself in the mirror, he didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this Agent nonsense anymore. He was too impatient. Bucky hated waiting for answers. Clearly, being around Steve had rubbed off on him.

It was a Friday night, near 9pm. His nose was nearly better. Fuck reports, and useless files. He was going out.

There’s a queer bar a few streets over from Bucky’s apartment. He had walked past it several times, but he hadn’t ever worked up the courage to go inside. Maybe it was time to break that habit.

He got changed. Bucky didn’t want to over do it. His spy instincts would never let him dress in a way that would make him stand out too much, or draw too much attention. He ended up in a clean pair of jeans and a worn leather jacket. It wasn’t exactly like he’d made an effort, but it was better than nothing. Besides, Bucky wasn’t heading out with the intention of picking anyone up- he just thought it was about time he tried the queer community on the other side of time.

In the forties, he’d been to hidden queer parties in basements and pop up bars. Everything had been more temporary, but just as vibrant. The language was different then too, of course. He supposed it was about time he found out if the people had changed just as much too.

Sometimes he regretted not bringing Steve along with him back in the forties. But it was a little too late to drag him along now, wasn’t it?

The bar was called Cameron’s. It was red brick outside, with a simple red neon sign, and non-descript. Bucky could hear music tumbling out from inside and into the street. Outside, there was a small gathering of people, most of whom were smoking and chatting. By the door, there was a poster with a list of events; on Saturday nights they had local drag performances, on Wednesday they did karaoke and on Mondays they had a quiz. Heh. Maybe Bucky would drag Natasha along sometime. She was a nightmare in pub quizzes; she knew _everything_ , and when she didn’t, she was determined to cheat.

Natasha was secretly very competitive.

Inside, the décor was soft. The lighting was warm, and the bar curved around the right side and into the centre of the room. Towards the back was a dancefloor, which was reasonably crowded already considering the hour. Bucky wasn’t sure he was quite ready to brave dancing yet though.

He had come for one drink. And then he would probably go home, feeling a little better for having scouted the place out.

A couple passed him, who were holding hands, to move to the bar. Bucky felt a strange tightness in his chest. He knew this was a queer bar, but seeing other queer people openly being affectionate, or holding hands, would always shake him up. In a good way. A very good way. It made Bucky feel emotional. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed; there was still HYDRA, SHIELD was just and messy as corrupt as whoever came before them, but this? It was something. A small something, sure, there was still much further to go but-

It gave Bucky a little hope. And he clung onto it, damn tightly.

Bucky leaned against the bar, taking in the music, and calmly glancing around. He felt weirdly chill. Normally, in crowded public spaces he would feel the beginnings of a panic attack as an instinct. He could shake it off most of the time but still- there was nothing now. He felt weirdly okay.

Feeling okay was going to feel weird for a long time, maybe forever. But that was okay too.

By the time Bucky made it to the bar, after a lot of wistful staring, he ordered a fancy whiskey. Double shot. He had to drink _a lot_ to remotely feel drunk or even buzzed, so he wasn’t worried about inhibiting his senses with just one glass. And now SHIELD was paying him buckets he may as well use it to pay for overpriced drinks.

Bucky took a sip and leaned back against the bar, enjoying idly watching people dance. He’d always been a big fan of people watching, in general. Seeing other people have fun, be open and be relaxed in a space like this- not anxious that the police were about to bash down the door -it meant more than he could say. Or even maybe understand.

Bucky enjoyed himself for an hour or so. He moved around the bar, finding new nooks and crannies along the way. Small areas with sofas, corner tables. There was a pin board by the toilets full of leaflets and events, and different community and activist groups that were local to the area too. Bucky sipped on his drink. If Steve were here, he would insist on going to at least five of these things. He had always been a good influence.

The music changed and there was a loud whoop from the dancefloor. Bucky turned around and-

He froze.

There was a man dancing with his friends. He was tall, had ridiculously wide shoulders, a sinfully good ass in those jeans and to top it all off, he had the audacity to be blonde.

Now Bucky would never mistake someone for Steve who wasn’t Steve. He knew Steve’s mannerisms, his movements. In the dark, he could recognise Steve just from the way he moved his feet. So, he knew that was not Steve, just someone who looked terribly similar to him from behind. And even though he _knew_ it wasn’t Steve from his movement, there had been a split second when he-

Bucky needed another drink.

He returned to the bar, which was a lot busier than had been when he’d arrived. Bucky knew bars got busy around this time, but he hadn’t quite prepared himself for this kind of crowd. He was waiting by the bar but didn’t seem like he was going to get served anytime soon. He was considering going home. Bucky was beginning to feel the edges of panic creeping at the corners of his vision.

All his relaxation and elation from earlier was sliding into something not-good. Bucky still wasn’t good at dealing with people pushing, a shifting crowd and the knowledge that he didn’t have a clear line to an exit (yes, Bucky had mapped all four exits out in his mind).

He was about to pull away from the bar, when he heard a voice directed at him.

“I saw you, watching me dancing,” the guy said. He was…even more gorgeous up close. Thankfully, his face looked nothing like Steve. His face was rounder, cheek bones more smoothed out- and he had green eyes. He even had a light smattering of freckles under his eyes. Bucky swallowed. He didn’t sound angry, did he?

Bucky had to remind himself this was a queer bar. Men watching other men dance wouldn’t usually make guys flip out.

It was just hard to kick old survival instincts.

He leaned in a little, one arm on the bar. “You’re cute, y’know,” he said, green eyes bright.

Bucky’s mouth went dry. Fuck. He had not prepared himself for this.

“Yeah?” He said. A bartender finally got to them. He ordered and let the blonde guy order too. Least he could do was buy the guy a drink for staring at him because he looked like his sort-of ex-boyfriend. Although, Bucky was probably going to give him the wrong idea.

Or the right idea?

Bucky had _no_ idea what he was doing right now. He must have been looking a little…panicked, because blonde guy leaned in and asked: “Want to go outside?”

Bucky nodded. Yes. Outside. Fresh air. A fantastic idea.

They stepped outside into the smoking area, where there were picnic benches set up with fairy lights hung around in a canopy above. Hot blonde guy leaned back against a table and took a sip of the mojito Bucky bought him. There was an obvious cheekiness about him that made Bucky’s chest ache.

“I’m Ryan,” Ryan said.

“James,” Bucky offered. And then he instantly scolded himself for not giving a fake name. Although he would say ‘Bucky’ was more his name than James was, but he didn’t feel like another conversation along the lines of _Bucky, that’s a real name?_ tonight.

He took a sip of his own whiskey. He’d gotten a triple, in the hopes of feeling even a little buzzed.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” Ryan comment.

“I…only moved to DC recently,” Bucky said. “And before that, I was dusted. So, you could say this is the first bar I’ve been to in a while.”

Try over seventy years. But he didn’t think he was up for explaining that tonight, either.

“I can’t imagine what that was like,” Ryan said, glancing down, almost like he didn’t know what to say. So, he wasn’t dusted then.

“And you think I can imagine what it was like for you?” Bucky pointed out.

Sometimes (all the time), he wondered what it had been like for Steve. Losing half of his friends, again for the second time in his life. Sitting around for five years and stewing about Thanos and all he’d done to the universe. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the rage, or the pain.

And he felt like he’d lost his chance to understand. Steve, the Steve who’d gone through all that pain, had left, and moved on. How could Bucky ever understand that kind of pain in him, when he couldn’t even understand his desires?

“You okay?” Ryan asked.

Bucky blinked. He must have drifted off.

“Yeah, sorry,” Bucky said, and he didn’t even lie that convincingly. What was wrong with him? He was a _spy_. “Just got distracted.”

Ryan was closer than he remembered him being. His cologne smelt good. Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest.

He had once been a charmer, flirted easy and effectively. All that charm had gone. Bucky was nervous, twitchy, and scared of doing the wrong thing. And he wasn’t even sure what he wanted right in the moment. He knew it had been over five months now, but it still felt-

Cheating was too strong a word, maybe. But it didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t-

Ryan was kissing him.

He was _kissing him_.

His hand had cupped Bucky’s cheek and Bucky’s hand ended up against his chest, fingers curling a little over the soft material of his shirt. Ryan’s mouth was soft and warm. He deepened the kiss slowly and languidly. He tasted of sugary cocktail. It was a good kiss but it wasn’t-

It wasn’t who he wanted to be kissing.

Lightly, Bucky pushed against Ryan’s chest.

“Too much?” He asked, apologetic.

“No…I.” Bucky paused, thinking of the easiest way to explain. “I just got out of a relationship, kind of.”

“I get it,” Ryan said, brushing the air from Bucky’s face before standing back, giving him space. He appreciated that.

“…Can I at least give you my number?” Ryan asked, mouth twitching up.

A number, Bucky supposed, couldn’t hurt.

He headed home, wondering if he’d made the right decision. His mouth tingled. And his smartphone had one more number in it.

He didn’t regret the kiss, not really, but it had made him angry. Bucky was angry at Steve, for the fact that he somehow felt guilty about kissing another guy when Steve was the one who went off and got married to another woman and- no. Bucky was angry at _himself._ He shouldn’t feel guilty over a kiss, not when Steve had gone and gotten what he wanted without giving Bucky a second thought.

How could he ever move on, if he still felt like he owed Steve something?

When he didn’t. Whoever had come back, whoever Steve was now- Bucky didn’t owe him shit.

…He really wished he could make himself believe it.

But deep down, Bucky still felt bad about the kiss. Especially about the fact that it wasn’t really Ryan who he wanted to be kissing.

It was someone who didn’t even exist anymore.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and hurried up. He just needed to be home.

Bucky got home but didn’t feel like sleeping. He had resigned himself to grumpily drinking on his balcony, watching the city lights, until his eyes began to hurt. He dressed in comfy clothes and went to raid his kitchen. He decided on mint tea. More alcohol tonight was a bad idea. He didn’t want to risk actually getting drunk, because then he would start moping about Steve again. And he didn’t have the energy for that. Not tonight.

His phone started ringing. For a brief moment, he panicked that it was Ryan, before he remembered that he never gave the other his own number.

It was Natasha.

“You usually call people at 2am?” Bucky asked, dropping down onto his sofa.

To his right, his coffee table was covered in old SHIELD files and several tablets and a laptop.

“Oh shush. I knew you were awake,” Natasha berated gently. “Not in a creepy way, I just…I know.”

“Yeah,” Bucky assured her. The brief flash of insecurity from her was…unusual. “I know. What’s up?” He asked.

“I got a few more files about Susan Vine for you,” Natasha said. “I have some…contacts that managed to get me some stuff from her HYDRA days. I know you’ve only been looking at her SHIELD stuff.”

“Oh?” Bucky said. “Thank you, Nat, really. I super appreciate it,” he said and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He got up to check his secure email- the one he reserved for Natasha only, pulling the laptop over to himself.

“It’s okay. Standard encryption stuff,” she said. “I want to help. I swung by SHIELD and checked out the machine…it’s huge. It would be good to work out what it does.”

“You don’t like it, do you?” Bucky asked with a smile. “Not knowing.”

“…I fucking hate it,” Natasha agreed and Bucky laughed, albeit not unkindly.

“Thank you for the files,” Bucky said. “Now. Go to bed. You need to sleep.”

“So, do you,” she pointed out.

Bucky just grunted.

They said goodnight and hung up. He set the files to download and then ran the encryption. It would take a few minutes, so he got up to finish his cup of tea. Nursing his hot cup of peppermint, Bucky sat back down on the sofa to open the first few HYDRA files.

A lot was still blacked out on the files, but he knew that Natasha will have done the best she could. This was better than not having them at all.

Bucky saw mentions of the serum, experiments, cryo processes- if she had been older, he would have assumed she worked on him. But Vine was in her late twenties. If there was any cross over between them, it could have only been a few years at most, and Bucky certainly did not remember her.

He frowned and continued to flick through files.

And then he saw it- and his chest felt tight all over again.

There was a block of pages, all part of one report, and every single page was blacked out. Every line was inked out in solid black lines. The only thing not blocked out was the report title, on every page:

_PROGECT PEGASUS_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Bucky investigate a HYDRA base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for those who leave comments, they are super appreciated and very kind! x

“I don’t get it, maybe they recycle project names?” Bucky said, phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek, as he swiped his card over the machine at the Starbucks counter. He walked to the end of the line and waited for his drink to be slid over the counter to him.

Behind him, the chatter of the lunch rush crowd filled the background. It was a sunny afternoon. Bucky had even donned sunglasses.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of projects that HYDRA has been working on since their conception,” Natasha said patiently on the other end of the line. “But I agree, it’s weird that we haven’t heard about it before.”

“Are you sure Vine was working on it?” Bucky asked. “Those files are…so blacked out. They could be about anything.”

“I’m sure. They found them in the base they found her in. I trust the source,” she said. “Her lab was pretty comprehensive, whatever she was doing…it was big.”

And if Natalia trusted them, so did Bucky. It really was that simple.

“No kidding. It was seventy years in the making, apparently,” Bucky said.

“It means whatever PEGASUS is, it started back in WWII,” Natasha said.

“Uh huh,” Bucky said. He thanked the barrister when they slid over his coffee, black with an extra shot. He took it to the small table to dump in an ungodly amount of sugar. “Any else interesting about the base?” He asked as he stirred it in.

“I haven’t looked around myself. It self-destructed before SHIELD could get a good luck. The bomb didn’t go off properly, about half the base remains, but the radiation has made it unsafe for a crew to make a drop,” Natasha explained breezily. Bucky was pretty sure she was on a treadmill. 

“How bad is the radiation?” He asked, snapping the cover back onto his coffee.

“…You think the serum will help with that?” Natasha asked. He could hear her smile on the other end.

“Maybe,” Bucky said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, if we’re quick. You got plans later?”

“Guess I do now,” Natasha said with a soft laugh. “I’ll pick you up at eight tonight.”

At that, she hung up. Bucky guessed they were investigating a HYDRA/SHIELD base then. He felt excited, like they had a lead.

Bucky tucked his phone away and stepped outside of the café, sipping at his still too-hot coffee.

A gaggle of teenagers appeared in front of him.

Bucky lowered his sunglasses.

“Are you the Winter Soldier?” One of them asked.

“I…was,” Bucky said, trying to sound calm. Beneath the surface, his heart was hammering away in his chest. People knew what he looked like, but since the haircut and the arm change, he’d been recognised a lot less often. On the streets, he was fine. But at Avengers events and galas, he usually got recognised. It seemed his anonymity was subject to context.

He didn’t like being thought of as the Winter Soldier anymore. It was his past, a role he had once unwillingly but with a heavy heart filled. His years as the Winter Soldier nearly killed him, haunted him and during them he had killed countless others. It wasn’t a time in his life he casually brought into conversation, especially not with strangers on the street.

They stared at him, wide eyed and fascinated, like he was a zoo animal.

He was sure that Steve had to put up with this kind of shit all the time. Being treated like a spectacle, being stopped on the street on his day off.

“Did you really kill Tony Stark’s parents?” Another kid abruptly asked, squinting at him.

Bucky felt a cold rush seize at his chest. He felt sick. He was shaking, from head to toe. His coffee nearly slipped from his hand. “Excuse me, please,” he said, words rough under his breath and moved past them. He just put one foot in front of the other, set on getting away.

“Can’t we get a photo?” One of them yelled as Bucky disappeared around the corner.

It was a shit start to the day.

* * *

“What are you getting Sam for his birthday?” Natasha asked.

They had managed to weasel a SHIELD jet for their trip. Well, Natasha had. Bucky had no idea what she told them, but she’d no doubt spun a story. The radiation meant that the base, named base VITALITY, was currently off limits to normal personnel.

Bucky blinked, halfway done shoving his gear into his utility belt. “His birthday is coming up?”

“Yep, the twentieth,” Natasha said. It was less than a fortnight away. “I did remind you before.”

“…I forgot,” Bucky relented.

“He’s throwing a party.” Natasha said, standing up to move in front of him. “You have to go,” she said, arms crossed over her chest.

Bucky let out a shaky sigh.

“You know I hate-“

“His birthday, Barnes. You’re going.”

Well, that was that then. Bucky sighed again. Natasha was right. He should go. Even though the thought of a large crowd, packed into Wilson’s downtime apartment, made his chest tight…he would survive. Sam was his friend and he owed it to him to at least turn up for his birthday.

“What are you getting him?” Bucky asked.

“Probably a spa session,” she said, only half joking. “Have you noticed how stressed he is recently?”

Bucky hesitated. He had been so caught up in his misery, missing Steve, that no- he hadn’t noticed Sam seeming stressed at all. If anything, Sam had seemed irritated with him on several occasions; understandably fed up with Bucky’s moping.

But maybe Bucky hadn’t actually been the one getting to him. Maybe it had been something else.

And he hadn’t even thought to ask.

His awkward pause said it all.

“I think…becoming Cap, has been a big responsibility for him to take on,” Natasha continued, filling the quiet. “He’s not good at talking about it, because he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. I know him,” she said, sounding fond. “But I think you should talk to him. You…grew up with Steve. You knew the Captain America from the war. If you tell him he deserves the title, he might just believe you.”

Bucky knew she had a point. Sam was an overthinker, and a self-doubter. Of course, he would be worried about being Cap- how could Bucky not have seen it?

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Bucky assured her with a small nod, tightening the strap of his belt.

After some precautionary scans of residue radiation, they dropped the jet down a little way off from base VITALITY. Equipped with night goggles (and a Geiger counter for good measure) they headed the rest of the way on foot. Bucky had almost invited Sam, when he remembered the other didn’t have a version of the serum running his veins- whilst he probably would have said yes, it wouldn’t have been safe.

The remains of base VITALITY curled around a small valley, deep in the dusty surrounding of Southern California. The base was half obscured from view as they walked up it; its jagged shape only becoming clear once they edged up to the cliff lining the south side of the valley.

Natasha held out a steadying hand when she reached the edge first, signalling for him to stop.

There was a funny taste in the air. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was the radiation (he didn’t know the intricacies of it), or if he was just imagining it. The base was huge. “It was abandoned post project INSIGHT,” Natasha explained.

SHIELD’s numbers went down considerably post the chasm in the year twenty fourteen. Many bases had been left abandoned, SHIELD no longer having the staff or means to fill them. It was insanely bold and reckless for HYDRA to just move into the empty space but…also not surprising. So much equipment would have been left inside, so much potential.

Bucky felt a tingle of trepidation creep up his spine, making him shiver. It didn’t matter if the base was half blown to bits or not, entering anything HYDRA would always make him nervous.

The base was large, filling up most of the valley. To the right, the building was mostly intact, but to the left it was obliterated. The bomb had clearly gone off, but something prevented the chain reaction succeeding.

“It’s been a few weeks,” Natasha said. “So, nothing more is likely to explode now.”

Bucky snorted. “Fingers crossed.”

On the left hand side of the valley, they found an outcrop of rocks to climb down from.

Landing heavily, by what looked like the remains of a carpark, Bucky took a moment to access their surroundings. He noted several other potential escape routes, where they could climb up around this side of the valley. He heard Natasha land behind him with a grunt.

“So, where do we start?” She asked.

“We need to work out where the science labs were,” Bucky said. “You said Vine worked in DNA, right?”

“Yep,” Natasha said, wondering past him to admire the way a concrete wall had twisted and warped under the weight of the blast.

Bucky knew how HYDRA self-destruct systems worked, in general. They always ran on a series of heavy duty micro bombs, with controlled blast zones but dangerous environmental consequences. It was to prevent outside interference until HYDRA were ready to regroup. But the chain reaction at this base had clearly been interrupted, or just hadn’t worked. Maybe there was a loose wire somewhere, who knew. But whatever had caused it meant some of the base remained intact.

Doctor Vine had gotten lucky, Bucky thought, when her cage was attacked out of the dozens on the row. It almost felt like it balanced out her unluckiness prior; the base failed to explode, and her capsule failed to burst.

She was alive long enough for Bucky to notice her, to hear her name.

And that had lead him here.

It was a funny thing to think about it.

They walked past the wreckage. Walls were collapsed and blackened, doors blown down and crumpled. There was no sign of anyone caught in the blast (although Bucky wasn’t sure there would be to the human eye). A fire had clearly started in one of the trucks in the car park, burning through a large portion of the building too. Bucky could smell soot, ash, and something acrid in the air.

It was a grim, destitute sight but there was something oddly satisfying about it too. Seeing all of HYDRA’s work, torn down into dirt.

“This way,” Natasha said, walking past him.

The sun was nearly set.

Bucky pulled down his goggles. They cast everything in a blueish, greenish hue. His eyes quickly adapted, he had worked many a time in them both as the Soldier and not. Natasha waved at him, her own goggles pushed down.

Behind her was a piece of ceiling, curling down, its concrete cracked and strained. Natasha turned around and headed into the corridor it hung over. Bucky followed her on.

The corridor was crumbling and groaning. Bucky was suddenly more worried about a cave in, than radiation. Natasha carried on, moving quick, seemingly unbothered.

They found barracks. They found wreck rooms. They found armouries, full of weaponry that looked melted and twisted and wrong. Bucky tried hard not to automatically run through all the rifle names in his head; he was uncomfortably familiar with HYDRA arms, even now.

Eventually they found a security room, and Natasha sat down in front of a set of computers. She hit the buttons; screens flickered but there was nothing. She sighed. “They’re dead,” she said and produced something that looked like a memory stick from her pocket. She stuck it into the only slot in the computer that wasn’t warped beyond use. “I’ll need to download the hard dive,” she said, taking a wire from the memory stick and plugging it into her phone. “It’ll take me a moment to encrypt it.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m going to have a quick look around while you do.”

Even with the goggles on, he could tell she gave him a look. “Just don’t go too far,” she said.

Bucky stepped back out into the corridor. Without Natasha moving next to him, it was too quiet. He could only hear the building; dying and creaking. Distantly, he could hear walls breaking down, rocks falling, ceilings caving in. The base was letting out a wheezing, final breath before it sank into the earth with a sense of finality.

Bucky moved further down the corridor.

He found more derelict, empty rooms with broken furniture. Now the building was more intact, so were the bodies- so he could finally see them. Rotting and melting bodies, destroyed by the initial radiation from the blast. Some people had ceilings fall on them, others burned- it was a sight. Even though Bucky knew they were HDYRA, it was hard to witness it. And in the murky dark green of the goggles, their bodies looked monstrous instead of human.

It was, in all honesty, quite terrifying.

Bucky headed back to the security room but got lost. He accidentally doubled back on himself and ended up in a training room three times. Seeing the bodies, of trainers and fighters, was all too familiar. He felt sick. Bile rising in his throat.

He turned out of the room, the doors no longer there, and just tried to breathe. Bucky leaned against a wall, his chest feeling too full. He curled a hand against his chest. _In for two, out for two_ -

Bucky managed to steady his breathing and headed back out into the corridor. He needed to find Natasha, before she got worried and came out to find him.

He ended up taking a new route back towards the middle.

And on his way, Bucky came across something unusual: a flight of stairs.

Base VITALITY was supposed to be all on one level.

The stairs seemed to be obscured by some kind of padlocked door, with several keypads and security measures. But the doors had deteriorated seriously, and Bucky could see a long flight of stairs heading down into the underneath. The goggles showed a fuzzy line of green stairs, and at the base; pitch black.

He was the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. The thought was almost laughable but-

There was something undeniably eery about it.

Bucky curled a hand behind himself, just to feel his rifle and check it was there, and then began to descend the stairs.

The darkness was somehow thicker down here. The air stuffy, and a little humid. Bucky could smell the dust alone, and he could see it in the air; particles suspended in front of him in too-dark shades of green. Bucky kept moving and found several doors along a single corridor. The floor was white tile and felt slippy under combat boots.

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as he edged open the first door.

Bucky saw crates, what looked like supply stashes and food drops. They were mostly untouched, aside from a few near the entrance- a box was torn open and a pile of tins had stumbled out. A few had even broken, leaking onto the floor. Bucky couldn’t read the label, but the tone of the goggles made the liquid look inky black.

Bucky shut the door and moved down the corridor.

He found…a room full of cages. Animals, and insects. HYDRA used all kinds of things for their experiments. Obviously, none were still alive. Bucky shut the door, the smell more than enough to put him off going in. His stomach turned.

At the end of the corridor, he found one more room.

The moment he stepped inside; he knew it was colder. The temperature dropped, significantly.

Bucky could see his breath freezing in the air, water droplets seizing up at the cold.

The room looked…a mess. But not so much from any radiation, or an explosion, rather…a fight. Tables were overturned. There were several bodies on the floor, all in lab coats. One man looked like he’d been bitten in the neck and bled out: the goggles again turning the blood on the floor black and striking.

Bucky swallowed and moved past the bodies.

He turned around on instinct, feeling a tingle down his spine. But there was no one in the doorway.

There was a handprint though, in blood, beside the door. It dragged across the wall in a long, reddish line. It looked as if someone had made for the door, and then been wrenched away from it.

Shrugging off the feeling of rising dread, Bucky stepped towards the back of the room.

He froze in his tracks, a lump in his throat.

What was in front of Bucky, was something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Yet, even seeing it now, brought back painful memories- of cold, of nothingness-

There was a cryo tube in front of him, smashed and half fallen off of the table it was on and to the floor. The front of the tube, its glass, was smashed open. There were specks of blood. The smash looked to have come from the inside, and whoever was breaking out was clearly determined- uncaring that they risked serious injury in the process.

Bucky could relate. He wasn’t sure he could ever willingly go in cryo again. In Wakanda he had, briefly. But it had been key to his recovery, something about his brain, and Steve had been there. It had been warm, and Steve had put on a brave face, smiling despite the tears in his eyes.

He hadn’t felt alone.

Bucky’s heart panged with empathy. He couldn’t imagine the fear, of being shoved in a cryo tube again, fighting to get out.

_Good for them_ , he thought.

All the bodies (Bucky checked them) looked like HYDRA personnel. Which meant the person in cryo had maybe escaped or- been recaptured. This potentially all occurred during SHIELD’s raid on the base, underneath the known levels and in secret.

Bucky got to the back of the room and found a huge shelving unit, packed wall to wall with books. He pulled a title out. It was in English, something about experiments on sheep. He pulled a face and pushed it back.

“Barnes?” Natasha’s voice crackled on his radio. “I’ve got the map. Let’s meet up.”

“Cool,” Bucky said, walking back out of the room. “I’ll come to you.”

He paused in the doorway. Something stirred, something tickled at the back of Bucky’s neck-

There was a breeze. A _breeze_.

Of course. How could he be so damned stupid?

Bucky marched back over to the shelving unit and began pulling out books like a mad man. He was two shelves down when he found it, a small switch underneath a shelf, above an encyclopaedia about shellfish. The shelving unit whirred and broke apart into two. They only created a few inches of space, but it was enough for Bucky to slip in his left arm and pull.

The mechanism was rotted but he could force it open. As he did, he was met with wet, fresher air. It still tasted stale and humid, but it was much better than the base. As Bucky pushed the shelves open, he could see only darkness and plain walls. It went on, further than the eye could see.

“…Bucky?” Natasha said. “You okay?”

“I found a tunnel,” Bucky said, breathless but…good. He felt oddly energised. Like he was close to solving some kind of mystery. Well, maybe not close but- he felt like he was getting somewhere. “I think you should see it.”

* * *

“It’s a tunnel, alright,” Natasha said, stepped inside a few feet. The walls and floors were smooth, but the ceiling had been left unfinished; it was soil and packed earth, with the occasional dangling route. “Which means some people probably escaped during the raid,” she said.

Bucky hummed in agreement. “And it looks like they took whoever was in cryo with them.”

“They were ready,” Natasha said, nodding to the entrance of the tunnel. “Clearly, it was precious cargo. They kept them right by the escape route.”

Bucky was inclined to agree. They stepped inside.

“Wanna see it where it leads?” Natasha asked.

“What about our science labs?”

“…We already saw them,” Natasha said, sending him an apologetic look. “Blown to shit, I’m afraid.”

Bucky sighed. Just their luck. “So, we still have no idea what Vine was working on,” he said. And they knew nothing more about Project PEGASUS or their machine. Great.

“We’ll find other leads,” Natasha said. “C’mon,” she jerked her head down the tunnel. It was terrifically dark behind her, going on and on-

They walked for over thirty minutes, in the dark.

Natasha paused, hand touching a wall. There were little holes in the concrete. “Gun fire,” she observed quietly. She looked up, following the line. “Diverted up. Like someone grabbed the gun someone else was firing.”

They kept walking.

“Someone got shot,” Bucky said. He could see drips of blood on the pale flooring.

“Let’s hope it was HYDRA,” Natasha said breezily.

Eventually, the air began to taste fresher, to feel less damp.

“Look,” Natasha said. “I can see an end.”

At the end of the tunnel, there was a small metal ladder.

Bucky went first. At the top of the ladder was a wooden trap door of some kind. “It’s locked,” he said with a grunt, pushing on it. “One second.” He pulled his left arm back and then shoved it through the wooden slats. Least with the left arm he didn’t have to worry about splinters.

Bucky shoved up the rest of the broken trap door and then pulled himself out into the open.

It was a warm evening. The surrounding house appeared small, and rundown. Bucky offered a hand and helped pull Natasha up before he hunted down a light switch.

With a pleased sound, he found the power was still running. He pushed his goggles up.

Natasha had already done so and had pulled out a pistol.

“Let’s check the house,” she said.

Bucky nodded and reached for his rifle.

The house was, predictably, empty. Whoever had used it, hadn’t been in it for long. Maybe a day at most. There were dry food goods and sets of clothes, some fire arms under beds- but there was no clue as to where they went after the fact.

HYDRA wasn’t that clumsy. They wouldn’t leave physical clues of locations, or routes. Bucky knew from experience, that you usually waited for a contact- and contacts would lead you to hits or drops. Everything was kept secret on a need to know basis; it was why all their double agents worked so well. Everyone had their own role in HYDRA; very few men were concerned with the big picture.

He supposed it didn’t run all that differently to SHIELD, in some ways.

“Fuck,” Natasha said, sinking into a chair in the kitchen and dropping her gun on the table. “Sorry,” she said and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I finally thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” Bucky said.

They found a bottle of whiskey under the sink, unopened, and decided to have a few drinks before their long walk back to the jet. The only glasses they could find were mugs. Bucky poured them both a few fingers before sitting down across from her.

The house appeared to be on a road, in almost the middle of nowhere. They were a few houses across from it, and run down shops, but it was clearly picked for its…insignificance. Bucky wondered how long it took them to build the tunnel.

“The tunnel wasn’t in the base plans,” Natasha said, as if reading his mind. “Vine might have not even known it was there.”

Bucky knew it was a possibility, but he wasn’t inclined to agree. He was sure that everything wasn’t so…neat.

“To our good health,” Natasha said, holding up her mug.

Bucky clinked his against hers and they drank. The whiskey was cheap and acrid. He grimaced as he finished it in one before lowering his mug. Natasha’s expression was strange. She was still holding her mug, having not taken a sip. At first, Bucky thought she was staring at his face, but he soon realised she was looking behind him.

Natasha stood up, whiskey forgotten, and moved to the kitchen porch. She edged open the door to reveal a bloody smear on the other side. This blood looked newer than the stuff in the tunnels. Days rather than weeks.

In ragged, messing writing a message was written. It was clearly drawn with a finger. It read:

_THE END_

Bucky swallowed, feeling funny.

The ‘d’ was smeared in the corner, like the hand writing it had been wrenched away at the last second. But it was still legible, as legible as writing in blood could be.

“Charming,” Natasha murmured and let the door swing to.

* * *

Bucky tried to shrug off the creepiness and the frustration of base VITALITY. It hadn’t really provided answers, and only created more questions. But in the end, Bucky hadn’t found what he was looking for. Truly, all he’d discovered was evidence of a tragedy that felt too similar to his own. He knew that was the only reason it lingered in his mind. He was desensitised to a lot of violence; but cryo would always haunt him. And now the bloody handprints and the messages did too. He couldn’t help wondering if it was another Winter Soldier, someone who hadn’t been shot in Siberia with the others.

The memories brought back rotten nightmares.

Bucky had to take a few sick days off of work.

But he had Sam’s birthday at the weekend, and he knew he couldn’t miss it. Not after he’d gotten him a present and everything too.

The evening of the party he was feeling marginally better. He had managed to get five hours sleep the night before. He wrapped Sam’s present, forced himself to eat a full dinner and dressed semi presentably.

Sam lived not too far from him and Bucky decided he would walk. The fresh air would do him good and give him time to amp himself to attend a party. He wanted to be a good friend, to not be miserable and just make about himself, for once. Bucky tucked Sam’s present into his jacket pocket and headed out.

By the time he was stood outside of Sam’s apartment door, the nerves had certainly kicked in. He could hear chattering and music.

Bucky, the old Bucky from before the war, would have eaten up a party. He loved moving between friends, sharing jokes and drinks. He flirted and chatted easily, his confidence an effective cover for what he hid underneath. Back then, Bucky believed that flirting with women would keep him safe from suspicion (and it did, mostly). He sometimes even kid himself that it meant something.

It never had. His gaze and attention had always darted back to Steve. He had been an anchor, and Bucky hadn’t even realised it at the time. He was constantly gravitating towards him, their connection inevitable.

No. He shouldn’t start thinking about Steve now.

Bucky knocked.

Sam’s sister, Sarah Wilson, answered the door.

“Bucky!” She greeted instantly and pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back, before he was lead inside. Sarah lived upstate but had clearly made the trip down specially. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “Your new hair looks _great_.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said. He liked Sarah. There was a warmness about her that he felt in Sam too. She was a few years older than Sam, but just as kind. “It’s good to see you too. How’s the new job?”

“I finally got that promotion I’d been waiting on,” she said and squeezed his arm as she lead him into the apartment. Bucky had been around many a time and knew it well. Although it usually wasn’t so full of people. Bucky took a quick scan of the room and recognised a few faces from SHIELD and Sam’s vet group, but that was all.

“Yeah? That’s amazing. Idiots shoulda given it you ages ago.”

“I know,” Sarah said.

Sarah had been dusted too. She’d had problems at work. She’d managed to return to her job, just about, but there was issues over a promotion she’d been promised days before the Snap- of course work had no memory of it, but for Sarah it had been a matter of days, not years. After a few months of negotiation, she’d finally been given what she deserved. Bucky truly was happy for her.

And she needed something…good. Her husband hadn’t been dusted and had moved on three years after the Snap. It was understandable, human even, but that hadn’t made it any easier for Sarah to bare. In some ways, it had even made it worse.

Bucky felt for her. In a strange way, his situation with Steve didn’t feel all that different- though of course him and Steve had never been married.

Back in the forties, the thought of being able to marry was almost laughable. Honestly, some days Bucky even forgot that he _could_ get married now.

Sarah led him into the kitchen to grab a drink. She uncapped a beer for both of them. On the kitchen counter, an attempt at nibbles had been made. Nachos and a three pot dip. And then pineapple and cheese. Bucky had to smile. Sam was never much of a cook, but he was a determinedly polite host. He wouldn’t let guests go hungry.

“How are you finding the job?” Sarah asked, picking up a cocktail stick with a cube of pineapple and cheese on it and pulling a face.

“…Good,” Bucky said after a moments pause. “It’s good to keep busy.”

“Yeah? I can relate to that,” Sarah said. “My boss had to throw me out of the office last week. It was 8pm. I hadn’t realised. I just wanted to finish the report. I mean. Not really. I just…I guess I just didn’t want to go home.”

“I know what you mean,” Bucky murmured. Home was a lonely place, where it was just him and his thoughts. He couldn’t escape himself when he was at home. “Sometimes I don’t want to go home either.”

Maybe that’s all his obsession with Doctor Vine and project PEGASUS really was; a distraction.

Bucky stared down at his beer for a moment before taking another swig.

“I think it’ll get easier,” Sarah said and bumped her elbow against his, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You think so?”

“I know it,” Sarah said. “We’re awesome. We can do anything.”

Maybe it was the beer talking but Bucky still felt warmed by Sarah’s optimism.

“Where’s Sam anyway? I’ve got his present,” Bucky said.

“Oh, he’s out on the balcony,” Sarah said.

All of a sudden, there was raised voices and laughter in the living room. Bucky stuck his head out of the kitchen to see Thor swaggering in.

It had been a while since Bucky had seen Thor. Last he’d heard he’d gone back out to space, travelling with the Guardians or whatever they called themselves. His hair had grown out a little, curling over his ears, and it suited him. The dark leather eye patch had been swapped out in favour for a silver one, that glinted under the bright ceiling light.

Lots of people were oohing and aahing. Thor looked, as always, ridiculously attractive.

Before Bucky knew it, Thor was marching right over to him. He clapped a hand on his shoulder that would have made an average man flinch.

“How goes it?” Thor asked, with a smile so sincere it was…honestly touching.

“Good,” Bucky said. “You know. Me and Sam are back at it.”

“Ah yes. The stars and stripes suit him,” Thor said, pulling his hand back.

“How’s…space?” Bucky asked, realising he had no real frame of reference for that question.

“Great!” Thor said brightly. “I’ve been searching for pieces of my brother’s soul across the universe. Hel does like to play funny games,” he said with a laugh. Bucky couldn’t tell if he was joking. He knew that death was complicated in Asgardian terms, but he’d also learned not to ask too many questions.

“Yeah?” Bucky said. Wasn’t Thor’s brother a crazed murderer? He supposed that was all relative too, in Asgardian terms. “I hope you find…all the bits of him, then,” he said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Bucky liked Thor, but he didn’t care much about whether his brother lived or died.

“Thank you, James, it is much appreciated,” Thor said. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? Once Natasha gets here. We’ll have almost all the Avengers under one roof. Besides Bruce and of course, Stark,” he said, voice dropping a little softer in tone.

“Yeah? Guess we kind of do,” Bucky said. He knew he sure as hell didn’t count as an Avenger, though.

Thor let out a gentle laugh, that rumbled in his chest. “I suppose it would be a bad idea to give Captain Rogers some of my mead now though,” he grinned. “Probably not safe for elders.”

Bucky felt himself freeze up, from head to toe. What had Thor just said…?

“Steve is here?” Bucky asked, voice almost croaking.

As if on cue, Sam appeared from the balcony. He was rosy cheeked and clearly a little tipsy. He looked happy, like he was having a good time. And he had an arm around…Steve, who despite being nearly ninety looked fine under his weight.

What. The. Fuck.

Who invited Steve, and why hadn’t anyone told Bucky? Why had they not warned him?

Of course, it was Sam’s birthday. He could do what he wanted but he-

_Fuck_.

Bucky backed into the kitchen before he could be seen. He found Sarah plopping birthday candles on a homemade cake with pink icing. She looked up and saw Bucky’s face.

“Are you okay, James?” She asked.

Bucky made an indignant noise in response.

No.

He was not okay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Sam's birthday party ensures, Bucky has an interesting walk home. And someone wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry there's been such a delay. I haven't been very well (not covid), still not great but I wanted to get something out. Thanks so much to all the people who are reading and interacting with this. I hope you like this new chapter and are all doing okay x

“Bucky, breathe,” Sarah said, hands on his shoulders. The birthday cake had been abandoned for now, in favour of calming down Bucky. Bucky, who was not calm in the slightest, was slumped heavily against a countertop. He had, for a moment felt normal, like he just might enjoy himself at a goddamn party for once in his life and Steve just had to-

He was hurt. He was angry. How dare Steve just waltz into his life again, all old and different, breaking his heart another ten different ways?! _How dare he_.

Bucky was just starting to move on.

He had kissed a guy and even thinking of Steve had ruined it.

And now Steve was ruining his life- ruining this birthday, Sam’s birthday! How could he-

“Bucky,” Sarah said again, firmer but patient. “Breathe.”

He looked up into her eyes; bright green and flecked with grey.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m fine-“

“You’re not fine. And stop apologising,” Sarah said with a frown, letting Bucky pull from her grasp and move to grab himself a glass of water. “You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t have those anymore,” Bucky said between large gulps of water.

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a stare that marvelled Steve Rogers on his best days. “Uh huh,” she said slowly.

“No one told me he’d be here,” Bucky muttered, half to himself.

“It’s Sam’s birthday,” Sarah said. “Did you really think…Captain America wouldn’t come to the new Captain America’s birthday party?”

“He’s like, I don’t know, old now.”

“Old? You think Steve is gonna let some aching joints get in the way of a friend’s birthday?” Sarah asked, tone not unkind.

Bucky let out a ragged breath, putting down his empty glass of water. Something tugged in his chest, something akin to fondness. Maybe she had a point. “…Yeah,” he said. “That does sound like Steve.”

It did, didn’t it?

He could just imagine it, Steve going against the advice of nurses and SHIELD officials and travelling to a different state, for a birthday party. It was so Steve-like it made Bucky’s heart hurt to think about it.

_Yeah, it really did sound like him._

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said, watching the hurt scrunch up his features. “I didn’t realise things were so…tender.”

Sarah knew some of what had happened; that Steve had left, that Bucky hadn’t been okay with it. But she didn’t know that Bucky was in love with him, had been in love with him, whatever. Or that there had been kisses and more in their past. There had been, yes, Sarah had described it well without meaning to…

A tenderness between them.

“Let me help you finish the cake,” Bucky said.

They placed candles and gave up on number nineteen. Sarah had bought thirty four, but it became increasingly apparent that they wouldn’t fit on top. It felt good to focus on a task and do something with his hands. Sarah didn’t probe him any further with questions, which he appreciated. Bucky could do this. He could do a birthday party.

Sarah was a grounding presence when they stepped out into a crowded living room, the lights dimmed. Sam laughed at the terrible yet charming icing job on the cake and blew out the candles on the third verse of happy birthday.

Bucky was pretty sure he spotted Steve watching him during the singing, but he was too scared of catching his gaze to be sure.

Natasha arrived just in time to snag a slice of cake. Thor let both Natasha and Bucky sneak some of his mead.

It was almost sickly sweet, like syrup but after a glassful it hit Bucky like a truck. The good thing about being tipsy was it meant Bucky was less nervous. Even with dampened nerves, he still avoided Steve like the plague the whole night. He could find excuses to dart outside or through the corridor if they ended up in the same room. It meant he hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk to Sam yet, either. He was too busy avoiding Steve to even realise he was doing it until it had gotten to ten at night, and it occurred to him that he still had Sam’s present in his jacket pocket. Fuck.

He was sat out on the balcony. The party had quietened down a little. He was on maybe his third glass of Asgardian mead? Bucky wasn’t wasted, he was with it, sort of, sure but- yeah maybe a little drunk.

He heard the doors open behind him and assumed it was Natasha. But it wasn’t.

It was Steve.

_Fucking hell._

Bucky suddenly wished he were sober and far drunker all at once.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve said. He’d clearly had a few beers, his face a little flushed. Maybe the serum was slowing down now, and he could get drunk easy. Lucky bastard. “You…okay?”

Steve was stood there, awkwardly. At the other end of the balcony was a couple quietly chatting, but aside from them it was just Steve and Bucky.

Bucky was sat on one of the outdoor chairs, enjoying the smell of other peoples’ cigarettes.

“I’m good,” Bucky said, managing to sound semi-normal. Steve had his hands in his trouser pockets, as if tucking his hands away was the only way to stop him fidgeting.

“Yeah?” Steve said, tilting his head. His hair was thinner now and pushed back.

Bucky didn’t like it.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, it’s fine,” Steve said, edging forward tentatively. Like he was scared Bucky might bolt off of the balcony (although he probably did have the skills to scale down the wall, it would be incredibly reckless- Bucky had only considered it for a few minutes before dismissing it).

He looked almost…sad. And Bucky hated that he felt bad about it, sorry for him. How ironic was it that _he_ felt bad for upsetting Steve? When Steve had upset him more than anyone else ever had in the whole goddamn world.

“It’s not that-“

“You’ve been avoiding me like, all night,” Steve pointed out. “I can’t-“ He let out a frustrated noise. “I can’t fix it if you won’t talk about it.”

“What is there to fix?” Bucky snapped, surprising himself. The mead had loosened his tongue. “You _left_. You left Steve! There is nothing fixable about this.” He gestured at the air between them. His hands were shaking as he did so. Was Steve really so blind to what existed between them, or to what didn’t?

Steve was rigid and tense. His gaze was fixed on the balcony floor. “I thought you would have wanted me to be happy,” he said.

“Great,” Bucky said. “Now I’m the asshole.”

“So, I am? For going after what I wanted?” Steve asked. He sounded hurt, tired. Bucky didn’t know where this was going, why he was doing this.

“No,” Bucky said, mellowing a fraction. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I…I’m not mad at you for that. I’m mad at you-“ He paused and took in a shaky breath. “For leading me on.”

Steve frowned. “What? Leading you on?”

He hesitated, finally looking up at Bucky, eyes searching his face.

“You don’t even remember, or are you playing dumb? Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Steve,” Bucky muttered. He stood up, trying to move past Steve to step inside. He was already done with this conversation-

A hand curled around his arm, gentle but firm, and stopped him.

Bucky stopped and looked up at Steve. They were far closer than he’d like. Steve’s hand wasn’t warm through his jacket. In fact, he could barely feel his touch except from the pressure applied. Bucky wanted to wrench his arm away, but he was honestly scared of hurting him.

“If I ever lead you on,” Steve said quietly, expression terribly sincere. So sincere it fucking cut into Bucky. It _burned_. “I’m so sorry Bucky. I never meant to.”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, voice sounding wet. His eyes were stinging. Somehow, he managed to hold Steve’s gaze. “Too late.”

Gently, Bucky pulled his arm out of Steve’s grasp and turned to go. He was leaving. He was out of here. He needed to go home and ball his eyes out and not leave bed for a day. He needed to get out of here and escape Steve’s awful, concerned, and caring gaze.

The worst thing was Bucky believed him. He sounded so real. Seemed so…real.

For the first time, he believed it was Steve. That it could actually…be him. It was a strange kind of relief and agony all at once. He felt sick with it.

Steve would never have meant to hurt him, and Bucky knew that to be true. And it made him all the more angry that he had.

Bucky made it outside.

He was halfway down the apartment corridor when he heard the door to Sam’s flat open. He had assumed it was Sarah, or Natasha to chastise him for leaving but it was neither. It was Sam.

“Hey man,” Sam said. He was a little drunk, happy. There was a bit of buttercream icing, in blue, on his shirt sleeve. He walked up to Bucky and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Where you going? I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you yet…shit. Are you crying? Bucky, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky blurted out. He needed to stop saying that when he wasn’t. It was just like a knee jerk reaction.

“You’re crying,” Sam said.

“I spoke to Steve,” Bucky said, shoulders deflating.

“Oh,” Sam said, as it all fell into place. “Shit. Sorry. I thought it would be okay. I should have warned you.”

“You shouldn’t have to warn me,” Bucky disagreed. “It’s your birthday, and Steve is your friend. I’m not going to ruin it. Go back to your party, Sam.”

He would be fine. And he really didn’t want to ruin Sam’s birthday.

“No,” Sam said. “That’s not-“ He sighed. “I don’t want you to have a shit time on my birthday.”

Bucky rubbed his sleeve over his eyes, blinking back the tears. He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. What an idiot.

“I’m literally the reason you are not currently at your party,” Bucky pointed out.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe I wanted a break anyway, some fresh air…”

“Is that so?” Bucky snorted, managing to smile despite the ache in his chest.

“There’s a diner near here. Why don’t we grab a coffee?” Sam suggested.

“And then you’ll go back to your party?” Bucky confirmed, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Then I’ll go back to my party. I give you my word.”

They ended up at a diner a ten minute walk away. It was a fancy kind of diner, with the shiny tables and finished leather seats. Bucky ribbed Sam when the coffee price was almost double what it was usually. They ordered a cup each and some fries to share.

Sam looked good. He was in a new white shirt, crisp and detailed with line drawings of koi fish. He looked a little less tipsy since they’d gotten some fresh air, and now they were nursing hot cups of caffeine.

Sam dipped a handful of fries in ketchup.

“You know,” Sam said. “You don’t have to be okay with being around someone, even if they are my friend.”

The _someone_ was obviously Steve.

Bucky appreciated what Sam was saying though, he really did. Sam was so good at…. relationships, being honest, earnest. He was honestly such a _good_ Captain America. Bucky couldn’t even comprehend why Sam was having doubts. He was so- he was everything. A strong man, a good role model and a great friend.

“I don’t want to talk about me,” Bucky said. “It’s literally your birthday, Sam. We talk about me all the time. And we definitely talk about Steve too much.”

He took a sip of coffee and set down his mug. He curled a hand into his jacket and pulled out a small, wrapped present. The wrapping paper was a little wrinkled, having sat in his jacket all night. He was secretly very grateful Sam had followed him out here and dragged him to the diner. Otherwise he would have totally blanked on giving Sam his present.

Sam began to peel at the edges of it, smiling. He looked up at Bucky. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Bucky insisted, shifting a little in his seat. He realised this was the first birthday present he’d ever gotten someone since the ice.

He used to get Steve presents, every year. It would drive Steve crazy. They barely had any moment and were always struggling to make ends meet. But it didn’t matter. Every birthday, without fail, Bucky would manage to scrounge money together. He usually got Steve some kind of new art supply, pencils, paints or a new sketch pad.

“It’s not a great present,” Bucky said quickly as Sam continued to open it, painfully slowly. “I…thought it was funny, at the time.”

He was now thinking his present was, in fact, incredibly lame. Shit.

Sam pulled out the blue t-shirt and turned it around to read the text, imprinted with an American flag in the background: _Yes, Captain America woke up like this_.

“It’s cute,” Sam said, grinning like a loon. “Thanks Bucky. Really. I- thank you.”

“You’re a great Captain America, you know,” Bucky blurted out. “You really are. And I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

Sam went quiet for a moment, holding the t-shirt carefully in his hands. “I-“ He started and then sighed, shoulders dropping a little. Bucky hated seeing that. “Don’t you ever think maybe you should have been-“

“No,” Bucky said, not even letting him finish his sentence. “No way,” he assured him. “I would be terrible as Cap, Sam. The thought is almost laughable. I mean, c’mon. Me? A public figure? No. And they don’t need another ninety year old man as Cap, it’s time he got with the times and all.”

“You think?” Sam asked with a small smile.

“I know,” Bucky assured him.

They finished their chips, left a tip, and shuffled outside.

Sam had tucked his corny t-shirt into his jacket for safety. It had begun to drizzle a little and the air smelt damp, with the onset of proper rain to come. Bucky didn’t mind the rain, at least. And walking back home would help clear his head after his sort-of fight with Steve. God. Bucky hoped he hadn’t ruined Steve’s evening, honestly.

“Thank you for the present, really,” Sam said. “And I am sorry you had a rubbish time tonight, even though we’re not talking about you,” he added quickly when it looked like Bucky was about to protest. “ _But_ , I do appreciate you coming. I know parties full of people you don’t know aren’t your thing. Yeah…thank you,” Sam said.

And before Bucky could fight it, he was pulled into a hug. He let out a soft oof and tentatively curled his arms around him. Hugging was something he needed more practise in.

“Now get back to your party,” Bucky said as they pulled back. “Before someone sends out a search party.”

Sam laughed quietly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going,” he said.

Sam began to walk away before Bucky called out. “And you should ask out Natasha!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Sam called back, but Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. “Night Bucky!”

Bucky chuckled quietly to himself and turned around to walk home.

On his way home, he had time to reflect on the evening, what Steve had said.

It, heart breakingly, made sense. Steve hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t realised. Because he would never knowingly hurt Bucky. Now _that_ felt like Steve. And Bucky could reluctantly look back on their own time, when relationships between men were hidden and fleeting. He had assumed Steve was well assimilated into the twenty first century, but maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe he had just thought everything between them, kisses, and intimate moments, were isolated events. They had no significance outside of the room, in the real world; they had been lovely, but nothing more than that.

It hurt to think it. But maybe that was just true. Steve hadn’t meant to lead him on, and Bucky had never asked for verbal affirmation or asked what they were doing. He had been a coward in a way, comfortable in his own silence and now he was paying the price.

Steve was gone, or some of him was. Maybe Bucky could never have a relationship with him, but he maybe he’d be able to attend Sam’s birthday party next year without storming out; it was a goal to work towards.

And maybe one day he could be around Steve without wanting to cry or scream or-

He honestly thought he’d been quite restrained at the party. Bucky was almost proud of himself. He hadn’t looked mature, but he had held it together. He’d gotten out of the party in one piece.

Bucky was about halfway home when a hand clamped down his shoulder.

He almost jumped out of his skin.

Bucky whipped around; hands raised to see-

No one?

Bucky blinked. Maybe the mead had affected him more than he thought it had. He lowered his hands, slowly, breathing heavily. He heard a movement, a shuffle. There was a scratching sound as feet dragged.

“Barnes?” A voice spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.

Bucky was finally getting with the programme. The voice came from someone he couldn’t see.

They were on a dark side street. It was raining slowly, lazily. The wetness was slowly seeping through the shoulders of Bucky’s jacket.

“You’re from the Raft. The, the mutant,” Bucky said, glaring into empty space. There was a disruption in the rainfall, he couldn’t quite make it out, but he had a feeling they were standing in front of him.

“Yes,” the voice said. “Sorry, for surprising you.”

The voice sounded male, but Bucky couldn’t be sure.

Bucky frowned. “Is this…are we going to fight?” It didn’t feel like they were going to fight, but he was also confused.

“No,” the voice said. “If you try to fight me, I’ll just run away again.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, slowly. “I won’t try to fight you, but what do you want?”

“To talk.”

“You know I work for SHIELD technically, right?”

“Yes, but,” the voice paused. Then the air rippled in front of Bucky. A person materialised in front of him in a grey hoodie and worn jeans. There was a dark bruise on his left cheek. He looked to be in his late thirties. And he looked absolutely exhausted. “You know the Raft, you have access.”

“To some of it. Not the basement, where you were trying to get to, right?” Bucky said, taking his hands out of his pockets (slowly) to make it clear he wasn’t holding any weapons. “I don’t have that kind of clearance.”

“Right,” the invisible mutant said, gaze flicking down. “Do you think you could get it?”

“Depends. I’d need a good reason,” Bucky said. “You and the other mutant. You hurt my partner.”

“She’s my wife,” he said. “And we’ll do whatever we can, to get our child back.”

Bucky blinked. A weight hit him in his chest. Fuck.

Their _child_?

“How old,” he started.

“Fourteen,” the man finished, voice shaking. “She’s like us. They found her. We don’t know how. They took her when she was at school. We were all living stealth, no one knew. But they found her and took her.”

“SHIELD?” Bucky asked, feeling grim. It was a familiar story, unsurprising, aside from the girl’s age. It wasn’t unheard of for them to imprison mutant children. It was not a practise Bucky was remotely okay with, but he hadn’t been sure what he could practically do about it. Xavier and his community had already presented a significant push back against the Accords and their measures, but SHIELD would get away with plenty in the shadows and behind the scenes regardless.

“Yeah. SHIELD,” the man said.

“Look,” he sighed. “Can you…will you help us?”

“Yes,” Bucky said without thinking. “She’s a kid.”

The man nodded, looking strangely relieved. He pulled a brick phone out of his pocket and held it out. “It’s a burner,” he said.

The edge of Bucky’s mouth twitched up. “I know what a burner phone is,” he said. “But thank you. I’ll…I need to think about this. Breaking into the Raft and getting some out of level zero, it’s no small feat. I’ll need time to prepare, to plan. But I’ll stay in touch.” He looked down at the phone then back up at the man. “You really trust me to do this?”

“You know better than most that you can’t trust SHIELD,” he said. “And…we don’t have many options. Me and my wife, we’re desperate. She’s getting reckless. If she gets caught too I’ll, I…I-I don’t know what I’ll do,” he admitted.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asked.

“Kai,” Kai said. “And my wife is Carla.”

“And you two mutants…you just happened to be together?”

“Yeah. We just, er, found each other. It’s like we just knew,” Kai said with a half-smile. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah…” Bucky agreed, heart heavy. “I do.”

When Bucky got inside his apartment it was nearly midnight. He was far too wired to sleep so brewed himself a cup of coffee. Whilst it brewed, he changed into comfortable clothes and grabbed a laptop. The fight with Steve seemed so meagre and unimportant now. He had bigger things on his mind. Parents needed his help, and their child needed out of the Raft yesterday. No child should be in prison. Bucky didn’t care if he got caught, if it turned him into a fugitive again. He had to do what was right.

Ha. Maybe Steve had rubbed off of on him after all.

Bucky stayed up for hours, pouring over every map of the Raft he had access to. Every security detail, every guard report. He pulled up other files on past escape attempts and rescue attempts (all of which had been unsuccessful, sans Steve’s own after the fight with Stark in Siberia).

He drifted off around 4am on his own sofa, laptop on his legs and finished coffee on the table in front of him.

He slept better than he had in weeks. He didn’t dream.

* * *

Steve Rogers woke up to sirens going off. Red lights flashing. There were loud voices. His head fogged and ached. He grunted and tried to move but found he couldn’t. He was fucking cold. Why was it so cold in here? Steve huffed and tried to move again. There was a case all around him. For a moment, Steve panicked that he was in a coffin, but he soon realised that there was glass in front of his face. It had fogged over with frost.

Steve caught a voice saying: “Cryo is destabilising, we need to move him-“

“There’s no time. We need to-“

“They _can’t_ find him.”

Steve reacted in a panic. He pushed his hand through the glass. He grimaced as shards cut into skin but pushed through, climbing out of the freezing tube and dragging it off of the table it was situated on. Steve fell and rolled, landing heavily. People around him were shouting.

One woman in a lab coat to his left was screaming. “Tranq him! Fucking tranq him!”

Steve blinked. His vison was spinning, blurred at the edges. His head throbbed and he was shivering. When he moved, his limbs felt stiff, like he’d been stuck in that tube for a long, long time. He moved on instinct, shoving past scientists and to the door.

A man jumped on him, trying to shove a needle into Steve’s neck. Steve wrenched him off. Some of the needle had squeezed in, as he could feel something hot running through his veins. “Where’s Bucky?” He asked because it was all he could think _to_ ask.

The scientist tried to shove the needle in again. Steve shoved him into the wall and there was a snapping sound as his head smacked against it wrong.

Then HYDRA agents burst into the room. Steve would recognise that uniform anywhere.

They had guns.

Steve ran at them. He hit the first one in the jaw, then the elbow. He got his gun and turned on the rest. Steve managed to take out scientists, agents. But they kept coming. The sirens were blasting, loud and relentless.

He kicked a man in the gut only to have a gun shoved into his own temple. His vision span. They clearly didn’t want to kill Steve, because if they had he wouldn’t be alive in the first place. He grunted and grabbed the agent’s uniform before shoving him away. His hands were bleeding from the glass. The cryo had left him slow and weak. Steve couldn’t win this fight, he needed to-

He needed to run.

Steve managed to trip up two agents with a thrown chair before he ran at a table, sliding over it and rushing to the door. He was about to burst through when an agent he’d knocked down prior grabbed his ankle from his position on the floor.

Steve yelped and gripped at the wall, smearing a bloody handprint against it as he was dragged down.

As time passed, he felt hotter and weaker, the drug they had given him slowly working through his system.

“You’re just making this harder than it has to be, Captain,” the agent said, aiming a punch at Steve’s face.

He tried to duck, and sucker punched but he missed, swaying a little. Fuck. Now his vision was really spinning.

A sharp, circular shape prodded into his back.

“Don’t move,” a voice said. “I will shoot you if I have to, Captain.”

One of the only remaining scientists was still standing. “Where’s Sarah? We can’t leave without her,” she was saying, fiddling with a bookcase in the backwall.

There was a soft hiss and it eased apart, revealing passageway. Steve grunted and tried to look around the room. It looked like a small lab, underground. What the hell were they doing with him here?

What was the last thing Steve could remember before waking up?

It panicked when he realised he had no idea.

Several more agents had crowded around. Steve made for one of their guns but a hand in his thin t-shirt easily pulled him back. He let out a distressed sound. Fuck. He couldn’t function.

He had to get out. He couldn’t let them take him. Steve tried to pull back, but he was weak. He even struggled to put one foot in front of the other, as they shoved him towards the passageway.

“She’s compromised,” the agent replied. “We’re leaving without her.”

The scientist nodded. But she didn’t look happy about it.

They stepped into a tunnel and the strange bookcase wall was closed behind them. The agents pulled out torches, aside from the one pointing his gun into Steve’s back, and they walked. Putting one foot in front of the other was a drag of every limb. It was exhausting, painful. The drug, hot and angry, worked through his system quickly.

Steve almost collapsed at one point.

The agents laughed and dragged him back up.

Then he felt a tingle at the base of his spine. That was the thing about the serum. It burned through drugs quickly. So, Steve felt the effects, fast and immediate, and then suddenly they were gone. He swallowed down a funny taste in his throat.

“Bucky will come get me,” Steve said, voice heavy and slow. “He’ll kill you all.”

“Sure, he will,” one of the agents laughed, like he understood a joke Steve couldn’t.

“He’ll be looking for me right now,” Steve insisted. That only seemed to make the agent laugh harder. They were oddly cocky, Steve thought. Were they not even a little afraid of the ex-Winter Soldier, a man with Bucky’s capabilities and an insurmountable grudge against HYDRA?

After about twenty minutes of walking, not that Steve could really quantify it, he felt a rush through the front of his face. Almost like a migraine rippled over his forehead in an instant.

Quickly, he turned and attacked the agent with the gun pressed against him, reflexes lightning fast.

He elbowed him in his chest and grabbed the gun, twisting it around just in time. As the trigger was squeezed, the bullet emptied into another man’s shoulder. He cried out with a grunt and slumped, a fellow agent catching him.

The agent in front of Steve growled, wrestling him for the gun. There was only three of them, Steve could do this, get the gun, escape. He pulled the gun out of grasp and kicked him back, raising it to pull the trigger when-

Steve felt a hot and wet sensation in his side. He frowned, and hesitated.

The agents rushed forward and grabbed the gun. Steve stumbled back, hand on his stomach. It came away red, but in the dark of the tunnel his blood looked black. He looked up to see the scientist holding a pistol, panting with wide eyes. She was staring at him like she couldn’t quite believe she’d just shot him.

“Fuck,” she sore.

Steve tried to grab at the wall, to keep standing. His fingers smeared against its smooth surface uselessly.

“Fuck,” he agreed and dropped down.

Steve woke up in a house. He was propped up against a fridge in a kitchen. There was bandages crudely wrapped around his middle. A HYDRA agent with a gun was watching him. In the other room, he could hear raised voices:

_“We shouldn’t have left her behind! Now what do we do?”_

_“We wait! We wait for orders. Just sit tight Doctor-“_

_“Easy for you to say! I almost killed him. Then all this is for nothing.”_

This house was clearly a safe house.

“We’ll move in a couple of hours,” the agent said, as if Steve cared. “Don’t get comfortable.”

Steve could barely move.

How did he get here? What happened? When did HYDRA take him? What was he even doing when they-

His head throbbed. Cryo had always messed with Bucky’s memory. Why would he be any exception?

Steve ebbed in and out of consciousness. He heard more fighting, more raised voices. He’d lost too much blood to put up a fight, he knew that. He needed to recharge and start again. They clearly wanted him alive. Steve hated the idea, but if he sat tight and managed to heal a little he’d stand a better chance on his next try.

Maybe this hadn’t even been his first try. He had no idea. Steve’s head ached when he tried to remember anything.

Tony’s funeral. Yes. They had been at-

He flinched when he heard the front door of the house slam open and voices fell in. Men and women in suits Steve didn’t recognise.

“Prepare him for travel,” one of them said to the agent, before moving into another room and out of Steve’s view.

The agent walked over and poked Steve with the barrel of his gun. “Get up,” he said.

Steve grunted and looked up at him. “Fuck you,” he said.

The agent smacked him around the head with the butt of his gun. Steve was thrown onto his front from the momentum and huffed. He was facing the porch and the door. Maybe he could try to- no. A silhouette moved in front of it, they were on a radio.

“Dispatch ready. Move in for pick up,” they said.

Steve’s heart sank.

“Get up,” the agent spat behind him.

Steve grunted and pushed up onto his elbows.

Quickly, an idea came to him. He bit down on his forefinger, hard, but barely registered the pain. He reached out to write on the door, hand shaking. If he could just leave a message, _the end of the line_ -

He got out _THE END_ before the agent grabbed him and swore. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asked.

The edge of the ‘d’ had been smeared.

A moment later, the moment in the lab coat walked in. Her coat was smeared with blood, her colleagues and Steve’s all mingled together.

She knelt down next to Steve and felt his forehead. “He’s hot,” she said. “The cryo messed with his system- hey. That’s rude,” she tutted, like he was animal, when he tried to bite the hand that was close to his face.

“Bucky will kill you all,” Steve promised, exhausted but sure.

“He’s not even looking for you,” she told him, looking down to him with a strange furrow in her brow.

“Grab him, we’re going,”’ a man in a suit said, sticking his head through the porch door.

Her words echoed in his head as the team moved to grab him and drag him out the back door. It was dark outside. They climbed into a dark, simple van.

_He’s not even looking for you._

Steve knew that couldn’t possibly be true.


End file.
